


One-sided love triangle

by gauthannja



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Everyone lives happily ever after somehow, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, I still don't understand football, It's complicated with these three, Kissing, Love Triangles, M/M, Mamori is our Best Girl, Multi, Platonic Love, Post-Canon, Romantic Friendship, college timeline, cupid Suzuna, meddling Hiruma, no one asked for this, sappy romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27742528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gauthannja/pseuds/gauthannja
Summary: Little by little, Gen felt his chest relax and his breath slowly release, but his pulse remained abnormally fast. It was confusing. He stole a glance at the woman beside him. He had known Anezaki pretty well for a long time, and he never thought of her as anything more than a friend. A good friend. A close friend? It had been nearly seven years since they had started as freshmen at Deimon. How could one jarring glimpse of something in her eyes that he wasn’t sure he was even supposed to see suddenly change how he felt about her after all that time? He couldn’t explain it. But he had so far failed miserably at ignoring it.===A love triangle where everyone lives happily ever after.Warnings for swearing and sexy topics (but nothing too graphic!)
Relationships: Anezaki Mamori & Hiruma Youichi, Anezaki Mamori / Hiruma Youichi (onesided), Anezaki Mamori/Hiruma Youichi/Takekura "Musashi" Gen (maybe?), Hiruma Youichi & Takekura "Musashi" Gen, Hiruma Youichi / Everyone (implied), Hiruma Youichi/Takekura "Musashi" Gen, Takekura "Musashi" Gen & Anezaki Mamori, Takekura "Musashi" Gen/Anezaki Mamori (eventually?)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although I am a diehard HiruMamo shipper, I also dearly appreciate platonic Hiru&Mamo. This is my contribution. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> I also just purely love Mamori, and think she deserves to be adored by everyone. And since I'm in this whole fic business to make up for the complete absence of romance in my actual life, this has become a self-insert where I play Musashi (which... let's just say is pretty unexpected considering I didn't even like his character at all when I first watched the anime — manga Musashi is great, however, otherwise this never would have happened!!!).
> 
> But if your Hirumamo shaped heart can't handle Mamori even considering someone else, please check my various other ES21 works! 
> 
> Chapter releases will be slower now as I gradually finish the last chapters.
> 
> Inspired by so many great fics, but special shout out to [ Of individuals and teams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21294638/chapters/50707274) for the HiruMusaMamo inspo.  
> And special thanks to [Rocketbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocketbear) for your support as Team Mamori beta reader.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musashi worries about Mamori’s torch for Hiruma. Hiruma tests his theory.

### MONDAY - SaikyôDai Wizards HQ

It was still early morning, but Takekura Gen was already pulling up to his first job of the day.

“Sure, Ma. I'll take a look later, okay?” he said, holding his phone to his ear with one hand as he expertly handled the steering wheel with the other. The Takekura Construction company truck came to a stop in front of the headquarters of Saikyô University's American football club, the SaikyôDai Wizards. 

“Listen, I gotta go. Give that tiny nephew of mine a spanking for me, just to make sure he doesn't wind up as spoilt as _some_ members of this family,” he joked in an almost perfectly deadpan voice, hanging up with his usual scoff of a chuckle as he tossed the phone into the compartment between the front seats. 

Gen leaned over to grab his toolbox from the floor in front of the passenger's seat beside him before getting out of the truck. He prepared himself for the traditional welcome of a shower of bullets. Instead he was greeted by a familiar face, armed only with a smile. Anezaki Mamori had always been a morning person.

“Good morning, Musashi. Hiruma had… something to take care of...” Her pleasant voice briefly cracked into a disapproving grumble, but she recovered smoothly. “Do you need me to show you where he wants it installed?”

There was no need. Hiruma had already explained in great detail, complete with sketches on the back of napkins made around midnight a week earlier as the two of them abused the unlimited refills at the diner that Anezaki happened to work at part-time. Besides, the only logical place for a state-of-the-art satellite dish was the top of the tallest part of the headquarters: the two-story garage that Takekura Construction had built to house the Wizards’ jeep with its custom scouting tower attachment that his company had also been contracted to make. Over the past three-and-a-half years since Hiruma had joined the team, the SaikyôDai Wizards had proven to be loyal Takekura Construction customers.

Once he had installed the dish, he asked Anezaki for a hand running the cables through the hole he had made in the wall. They tested the connection on the projector inside, and after a few rounds of fiddling with the angle of the dish as she called out directions, they were able to scan through what appeared to be thousands of dedicated sports channels at the press of a button. 

“Well,” Gen said, closing his toolbox. “Seems like my work here is done.”

“Are you in a rush?” Mamori asked, with a slight hesitation in her voice at the idea of inconveniencing him. “You really shouldn’t leave before Hiruma gets in. You know how he gets. I can make you a coffee.”

“You're probably right.” Gen pulled a chair back from the strategy table with a resigned sigh. If he were being truthful, he had been completely run off his feet the past little while, but he could spare a few minutes if it would save him from Hiruma's overblown and somewhat unpredictable reaction later. And honestly, he welcomed the chance for a bit of a break from constantly rushing around. “I had a coffee already, and this kind of ridiculously large thermos is full of tea, so I’m good. But thanks.” 

She nodded, then turned back to unpacking her bag. Anezaki was one of the few women Gen didn't feel uneasy around. Maybe because after all that time sharing the bench together, he never felt like she expected him to fill the silence, and she seemed content to do the same. His sister always teased him, saying that when women saw a guy built like he was, the muscled, broad shouldered kind (“like the cover of a harlequin romance” were her exact words, which only made him roll his eyes because, seriously, when was the last time a construction worker was the protagonist of anything, let alone a romance?), they craved to be acknowledged. From what he could gather, that's what all the eyelash fluttering and overly long stares were about. Well, that wasn't his problem. But he always felt a bit unsettled. At least in the worlds he spent most of his time in, whether construction or football, female presence was uncommon enough. 

Savouring the rare downtime between jobs, Gen sat back as his former classmate reached into her bag and pulled out what was clearly some kind of box— although it was covered in dark fabric, tied in a knot at the top like a handle with its ends carefully tucked under themselves in the old traditional style. Gen knew exactly what was inside from his time back in high school. At some point Mamori had caught Hiruma eating convenience store food so many times that she started bringing an extra lunch for him along with the ones she brought for Sena back in those days. 

Gen's first reaction was a sense of relief and gratitude. He hadn't realized she was still feeding that idiot, although it would explain some things. He was annoyed (but not really surprised) that Hiruma had failed to mention this to him. After so many years, it was a little nostalgic to see her once again camouflage the handmade bento by putting it in a plastic convenience store bag (so Hiruma's fearsome reputation wouldn't be undermined by its kryptonite: the idea that a girl was making his lunch) and then place it on the shelf above Hiruma's locker. 

But it also left him with a pit in his stomach. 

“Anezaki…” Gen began, weighing his words but not really sure how to broach the topic. “Why are you still doing that?”

Mamori had crossed to the counter where the hot water dispenser was stationed. She knelt and opened the cupboard below to remove a teapot and cup for her own tea. “Making his lunch, you mean?”

“I imagine that's not the only thing you're doing.”

Mamori looked back at him with a smile and he knew he had guessed right. In that smile he recognised the sense of ease and slight relief that came with not having to explain her complicated history with Hiruma Yôichi. Just as Gen knew that around Anezaki he could count on the fact she already understood this non-negligible aspect of his life without him needing to say a word. So much between them went unspoken, just the context that they both knew hung in the air and informed everything else they said. 

Most of the time, anyway. 

“Someone has to take care of him,” she replied. “Goodness knows he won't take care of himself.”

"He is a fully-functioning adult, you realize,” Gen said. “He'll never learn to take care of himself if you keep doing everything for him.” Although even as he said this some inner voice shot back: _Bit of a hypocrite, aren’t we?_

Anezaki opened a tin and measured the loose tea leaves into the basket inside the teapot. “I don't mind.” 

She pressed the button of the dispenser to fill the teapot with piping-hot water. Gen frowned. It felt a bit imposing to push the topic, but no matter how intelligent she might be in school and sports, Anezaki could be famously oblivious to other things. Particularly as a judge of human character. 

“And what's he going to do when you're gone?”

She looked back at him again, curious at his question. “Where would I go?”

Gen inhaled slightly longer than he might have if he wasn't trying to dissimulate his disappointment. All his fears seemed to be confirmed. "You're graduating this year. Things change. Anything could happen... You might get married, for example."

Mamori stared at him a moment without replying, then turned her gaze back to the water with exaggerated attention. When it was filled, she set down the teapot and placed the lid on top but otherwise didn't move.

"Anezaki… You have to know him well enough by now…” Gen began, as gently as he could manage. It wasn't his style to intervene in something that wasn’t his business, but it seemed unfair to Anezaki not to say something. She needed to know the truth about Hiruma. “He’s not…” 

But suddenly Gen couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Her blue eyes had become deep, quiet pools of sadness, looking vaguely ahead but plainly without really seeing anything. It was unlike anything he had seen from her before. Even those glimpses he had caught of her in the past with tears in her eyes, they had always been bright and overflowing with vivid emotion. But he had never detected this kind of hollow sorrow in her before. It caught him off guard. An ache spread through his chest, and he almost stretched out his hand to her without thinking, although she was well out of reach. 

Then seamlessly she blinked, turning her eyes to meet his. Intent, blue and shining, the sadness that had seemed capable of flooding the room was gone.

Gen frowned again, doubting himself. It didn’t seem to be covered with any fake cheer; it had simply dissolved, leaving a serious yet composed woman in front of him. But he sensed some hidden depth there still, something that he couldn't detect just by sight.

“I know,” Mamori said quietly, with a weak smile. “I've known for a while, I guess.” 

She had grown her hair out, much longer than she had worn it in high school. The smooth straight caramel brown fell well past her shoulders now, framing her face elegantly, even if her bangs covered her eyes a bit too much in his opinion. She was dressed simply in a plain white t-shirt without jewelry or other ornament, but her gaze and her poise were captivating. It was impossible to deny that she had matured into someone who was more than just pretty.

It was too ironic, and a little cruel, to think this woman who could easily have her pick of men had fallen in love with one who was not interested in women.

"I don't mind," she said again. 

Then she turned back to her tea, setting it and the cup on the tray with an individually-wrapped rice cracker for herself and another that she placed in front of Gen as she passed him on her way back to the table. "You can save it for later if you want."

She had changed the subject. Gen knew he should be relieved. They had been talking about relationships, after all. He contemplated the cellophane wrapper of the oversized cracker, then tucked it in the breast pocket of his overalls. He took a long, thoughtful gulp from his thermos. She said she knew and it was fine, but something didn't sit right. 

He must have been frowning, because after a moment he heard her teacup touch its tiny plate and Anezaki gently spoke as if trying to calm his worries.

"If you think he's taking advantage of me, it's really the other way around." 

Gen glanced up at her in surprise, and she smiled back as if they were sharing an old secret. 

"I need someone to take care of, afterall. And I need to know he's taken care of. It's selfish of me, really."

He studied her calm eyes, but there was nothing to suggest she was fooling herself. He leaned back in the chair and let his arms fold comfortably across his broad chest.

"Alright then," Gen said, mirroring her smile on the corner of his mouth, despite all his reservations. It was her decision. There wasn't much else to say. 

It wasn't long before Hiruma burst into the room in a flurry of curses and cackles, beginning his harassment of his old friend before the door was even fully open. It was secretly amusing, but Gen kept his usual nonplussed expression— not giving Hiruma the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him was a well-practiced game that he was almost certain to win, but it didn’t stop Hiruma from trying and Gen suspected it was one of the things Hiruma liked about him. Together they inspected the installation and Hiruma taunted him about how much Gen would owe him if the Babels didn't make it to the Rice Bowl _this_ year, finally, and reminded him again of the karaoke party later that week that he absolutely couldn’t miss _or else_. 

Hiruma escorted him all the way back to the truck, verbally harassing him with a submachine gun against his shoulder. Gen loaded the toolbox through the passenger's side door and made his way around the front to the driver's seat. He cast one last look back at the clubhouse, then turned to his maniacal friend. 

"Hiruma… don't you think this has gone on long enough?" he sighed. "Isn't it unfair to Anezaki?"

Hiruma laughed pointedly. "What’s not fair? It might be difficult to believe, but I actually didn't force her to be our manager."

"Not the manager bit. The rest of it."

Hiruma raised an eyebrow, but for once had no response.

"She makes lunches for you. She puts out your fires. She does your laundry." This last part was conjecture, but there had been precedent. 

His guess seemed to stick.

"Again, at no point have I compelled, threatened or coerced her into any of this," Hiruma shrugged with a grin. "She does what she wants. Who am I to stop her?"

"That's very convenient for you." Gen opened the door to the truck and moved to enter, but Hiruma followed close behind him and blocked the door from closing, leaning in. 

"Oy, fuckin’ old man, remind me what the problem is again?"

Gen studied Hiruma's irritated expression briefly. "Why do you think she’s doing it?"

"Keh, cuz her default setting is 'mom' and she doesn't have the fuckin’ shrimp to take care of anymore."

"Are you sure it isn’t something else?" 

"Tch..." Hiruma shifted his gun to the other shoulder. "She ain’t stupid."

"No, but she can be… oblivious, sometimes," Gen reminded him.

"Tch."

"Stop leading her on just to make your life easier."

"This is a new level of nosy for you, old man! If it makes her happy, who cares? I’m not complaining." Hiruma seemed just as annoyed as Gen had expected he would be. "She's a hottie anyways, guys should be lining up for her. Or girls. Whatever she’s into. It's not like she doesn't have options."

Gen sighed. "But has she ever even dated anyone? People might be a little intimidated to approach a woman whose life seems to be dominated by a threatening guy like you, don’t you think?"

But the suggestion only seemed to amuse Hiruma. "Kehkehkeh... well, then they don't deserve her!"

"Talk to her," Gen said, moving to close the door. 

Hiruma kept his foot wedged against it long enough to cackle back: "Nice try, fuckin’ old man. Stick to kicking. And don’t forget: karaoke on Friday! All work and no play makes old men shrivel up and die!! Kehkehkehkeh!"

Then he pranced away.

Gen let the truck door slam and set his hands on the steering wheel a moment before starting the engine. The cab of the truck smelled of diesel and sawdust and the hot rubber of the interior that had been baking in the sun. He had to shake his head to regain his senses. 

He _had_ been exceptionally nosy that morning, the idiot had him there. 

He scooped up his cellphone from the tray between the seats to check for messages. A half-dozen were about the current jobs. One from Onihei at the main worksite, asking about the rebar delivery. One from the rebar supplier, saying the order was delayed. And three messages forwarded from his mother, which were probably the profiles from the matchmaker service that she had mentioned earlier. Gen dismissed the notifications, then put Onihei on speakerphone to give him the updates as he pulled away from the SaikyôDai campus. 

As he drove to the next job, the wrapper of the cracker in his breast pocket crinkled whenever he made a turn and his thoughts drifted back to the situation with Anezaki. She had always been the mothering type, and he supposed her decision to take care of that idiot demonstrated a certain self-awareness. But the idea that she had decided to dedicate herself to Hiruma bothered him. His own relationship with the demon was more than just an unshakable friendship— to the extent that he had given Hiruma a key to his place in an attempt to keep him from stealing in through the window at night. 

Gen had never been under the illusion that he was the only recipient of Hiruma’s attention. But from what he knew, all these others were also men. While he couldn't completely rule out the possibility that Hiruma might also be attracted to women, what was abundantly clear was Hiruma did not waste any time with them.

But if Anezaki knew that Hiruma wasn't about to put a ring on her finger or help her start a family, then it wasn't as if she was going to have a brutal wake up call later and live to regret pouring her attention onto him…

Gen sighed again and tried to shake his concern from his thoughts. It was really none of his business. 

Maybe it was the changes in his own life that made him butt in so much. His mother had recently moved to Chiba prefecture to help his sister through the complications with her pregnancy, and Gen had suddenly been confronted with how much he relied on her. His mother had acted as the receptionist and bookkeeper at Takekura Construction and when she left they had broken down and hired a part-timer to replace her over the summer. It was an additional salary that the company couldn’t truly afford to pay, but they also absolutely couldn’t afford to go without. 

Nevertheless, Gen was left making his own meals and wondering if he had really properly appreciated all those years of hearty lunches and dinners that he had never needed to think twice about. The idea that Hiruma had someone who owed him absolutely nothing making his lunches without so much as a thank you in return (Gen knew Hiruma well enough to be sure of this without knowing the details) grated at him. But if Anezaki was doing it out of her own free will, who was he to take issue with it? She knew Hiruma as well as he did. 

The week passed in a blur of jobs and practices and meetings with clients and all the rest. But it was punctuated with memories of deep blue eyes that caught him off guard whenever his mind wandered. 

Blue. 

Intense. 

Shining. 

### WEDNESDAY - Hiruma's place

Hiruma was about to shove his key in the lock on his apartment door but stopped short when he heard sounds inside. He kicked the door casually with his foot and it swung open without resistance. 

Inside an aproned Mamori was washing dishes. 

“Welcome home,” Mamori smiled over her shoulder when she heard the door open, still cleaning a pan with her arms half submerged in soap suds. “I didn't know how late you’d be, so I put your dinner in the fridge. Do you want me to heat it up?”

Business as usual, in other words. 

But this time Hiruma remained in the doorway, studying her. For some reason he couldn't just greedily accept it. First he needed to test a stupid theory.

“Don't I get a kiss?” he said with a smirk. 

Mamori’s hands stopped scrubbing and she turned to stare at him. 

“What did you just say?”

“Don't make me repeat myself,” Hiruma replied, but he repeated it anyway for dramatic effect. “I said, don't I get a kiss?” 

There were only a few meters between the door and the kitchen sink. Mamori crossed them in a swift movement, wiping her hands on her pink Rocket Bear apron but never taking her eyes from him. She was staring up at him so intently that for a moment he started to worry she might actually do it. But then she reached out and put her hand to his forehead.

“Are you feeling alright?” Mamori asked. She frowned. “You don't have a fever…”

She pulled back the stool from the spot at the counter where she usually ate and practically dragged him there to sit down. There was only room for one, but that generally didn't matter since Hiruma rarely bothered to sit while eating. Once he was seated she began rummaging in her bag for her first aid kit, producing a thermometer which she wiped with disinfectant and reset. 

“Have you eaten today? Were you in the sun? Have you been getting enough fluids?”

Hiruma grinned at her, leaning so close that for a moment it seemed he was about to pull her into an embrace. 

Instead, he flicked the middle of her forehead with a finger. 

“Keh, I'm fine.” 

He snatched the thermometer away and crossed to the fridge.

Mamori blinked at him, rubbing the pain from her forehead. “Fine? But then why…”

“It was a test.”

“You were testing me?” Mamori repeated, still frowning but now a bit bewildered. 

Hiruma opened the refrigerator door. Spaghetti! Maybe he should marry her after all... There were several servings, meaning dinner for the next few days was taken care of. There were also tiny portions of freshly-shredded Italian parmesan in separate containers. Parm was the cocaine of food, and the fuckin’ manager was his dealer. 

“Want some?” he asked her as he grabbed one of the containers of pasta. 

Mamori shook her head. “Go ahead. I ate already.”

Hiruma punched the automatic setting on the microwave and leaned against the counter as he waited for the meal to heat. Mamori seemed to have accepted that he wasn’t about to explain his so-called test, so he tossed the thermometer back to her. 

“I was going to leave after I finished the dishes,” she said as she tucked the first aid kit back into her bag. “But if you want to review the stats now I have some time.” 

Hiruma didn’t reply. Things had been perfect between them for years without ever having to talk about it, which was admittedly one of the things he liked about her. The fact that she did what she did, despite knowing him as she did, had accumulated layers of something inside him that he had come to rely on. Something that held an open space in his mind, otherwise cluttered with myriad preoccupations: a space for maneuver where ideas took shape. Bigger plans. Wilder schemes. More fantastically amusing escapades. It was a freedom that he relished in. And in exchange… 

In exchange, he would give her whatever she asked for. Except she never asked for anything. But if the old man was right… _Tch._

Mamori turned to find him staring at her with a suspiciously thoughtful look. “Hiruma...?” 

“You ever had a boyfriend, fuckin’ manager?” 

“E-excuse me?” she stammered cautiously. 

“You need hearing aids, or what?”

Mamori managed to collect herself enough to turn up her nose. “That is none of your business.”

“Is that yes or no?” Hiruma persisted.

“Hiruma, what is the point of this?” she sighed, ever-so-slightly rolling her eyes. “Obviously you would have already somehow found out if I had a boyfriend.”

“A girlfriend, then?”

“What difference would that make?” Mamori asked, incredulous. “Anyway, haven’t you said to me a hundred times, if you know the answer why are you asking me?”

“Keh. Fair,” Hiruma grinned. This, too, was a test; just a preamble. The fuckin’ manager had been prolific with her desert dates, coffee dates, lunch dates, and study dates…. and each and every one had been filed into his notes. One, two, occasionally three. They were almost always in a public place that was easy to monitor, so he also knew that no matter how much the other party flirted, they never received more than friendly banter in return. And he had always been selfishly pleased with that.

“So, why not?”

For a few moments Mamori’s tongue seemed to be tied. When she finally managed to speak it was evasive. 

“Honestly, what is the matter with you today?”

“You’re kind of a bombshell. Dumber and uglier and less well-mannered people have managed to get them,” Hiruma replied pointedly. “Just answer the question. Why not?” 

But Mamori only avoided the question once again. “You have never shown any interest in my personal life before. Why now?”

Annoyed with her lack of cooperation, at the fact they had to talk about it, at the _very existence_ of the problem, he practically snarled back: “How are you ever going to make your dreams come true if you don't find someone who wants to have kids with you? Are you even looking?” 

Mamori looked like she had been slapped. 

Hiruma mentally cursed himself. The plan had been to find out the truth without damaging their dynamic. It would be inconvenient if the inquiry upset their professional relationship, obviously, but aside from that... he didn’t especially love the idea of hurting her over something that the fuckin’ old man had clearly just fabricated out of thin air.

Unless he hadn’t. She still hadn’t admitted why she never dated anyone. Which wouldn’t really be a concern if her life goals were fighting for world peace or becoming a cash money baller. Hiruma ground his teeth. He had thought she knew him. Mamori was trying to keep her face from betraying her, but her eyes were deep, hurt blue, like fresh bruises that made him scowl in disapproval.

Then the microwave beeped and the tension broke. 

Mamori pulled a fork from the drying rack and passed it to him. Hiruma took it from her and scooped the pasta to his mouth, breathing against the steam to keep it from burning his gums.

“Musashi said something to you, didn’t he?” she said after watching him eat for a minute.

“Tch.” Hiruma took another bite. “Fuckin’ old man likes to pretend like he’s not up in everyone’s business.”

Mamori smiled at his grumbling. “Well, it’s kind of sweet of him to be concerned.”

“He acts like he ain’t got time for the slightest thing, then turns around and meddles like some retired old hag,” Hiruma complained. “He should focus on getting to the bloody Rice Bowl already. I warned him a million times what I’ll do to him if they don’t make it this time. Tch, I never thought my new year would involve so much _murder…!_ ”

“Musashi will do his best to get there. And the Babels have been making progress,” she reminded him. “They made it to the Pearl Bowl in the spring, remember.” 

“Tch. That's just the Kantô division, you know it basically doesn't mean anything. And they didn’t even win it,” Hiruma scowled. “Plus, that was _before_ the old man became the one-man band of the whole damn company. Football is the last thing he’s thinking about now, or doing anything about, anyway. Maybe if he had a half-decent support team it'd be different, but a random bunch of his employees’ brats can’t hope to run a professional team. That fuckin’ coach he found is too the fuck chill and can’t be bothered to lift a finger unless—”

“Hiruma…” Mamori interrupted his rant with a sigh. “You just have to trust him. He’ll do his best, him and the others.”

“And if they don’t make it? Then what was the point? The three kingdoms… tch! It’s already been four years, almost!”

Mamori turned to him with a bemused and somewhat skeptical look. “Maybe you should focus on your own team. If Enma beats us at the Koshien Bowl it won’t matter which X-league team ends up at the Rice Bowl.”

“As _if_ I would allow that to happen!” Hiruma cackled with villainous laughter. “And the same goes for you— no slacking, fuckin’ manager!” 

Mamori gazed at him with a mildly irritated, yet content smile. Then she reached out, pushing his bangs back from his face, her expression almost tender. Hiruma's laughter faded, suddenly afraid she might kiss him after all, or confess and ruin everything. But she only touched her palm to his forehead again. 

“What would you do without me?” she wondered aloud, so quietly. Perhaps it had been meant as a joke, but any humour in her voice was difficult to detect. 

She couldn’t know how much the question had been on his mind, but always systematically pushed to the back of his thoughts. The horizon of uncertainty was graduation, afterall, and that wasn’t until after the Rice Bowl— worries for another time. He had been confident that he could conjure up a solution, after they had won it. Damn that fuckin’ old man and his fuckin’ _concerns._

Mamori let her hand drop, picked up her bag and moved to leave. 

“I'll see you tomorrow. Please don't stay up too late. I don't want your condition to get worse.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musashi goes out on a limb. Mamori misunderstands.

### FRIDAY NIGHT - Karaoke

Karaoke was a Deimon tradition. 

Sometimes others tagged along, but there was always a core of former Devil Bats members, conscientiously harassed into attendance by their eternal Commander from Hell. 

The upshot was that it was cheap— free, actually, thanks to Hiruma’s apparently bottomless tab— and if Gen didn’t have a lot of spare time, he had even less money. By the time Friday night rolled around he was usually exhausted, but with enough convincing he would make an appearance, and he never regretted the boost that seeing his idiotic high school teammates gave him. 

It was always, without fail, a complete riot. 

It had been a hell of a day, one that left Musashi without the strength to resist the invitation. Besides, he knew it would do him good. He headed over direct from work with Kuroki and Toganô, with a pit-stop at the convenience store to grab the new issue of JUMP. There they joined up with Jûmonji as usual, and the idiocy began in earnest. 

The karaoke place they went to only served drinks, but customers were allowed to bring their own food— which Kurita always enthusiastically volunteered to take care of. He arrived with an outrageous haul of bags and boxes that he barely seemed to notice except when they obstructed his ability to fit through the doorway. 

The moment they stepped into their sizable private room, they were already being serenaded by the frantic metallic riffing of guitars, punctuated by the pounding of drums. Hiruma stood in front of them, his back to the lyrics on the screen, brandishing the microphone dramatically for his customary performance of AC/DC’s _Thunderstruck_. Akaba, a regular guest, had tagged along with him again and was playing along on his actual guitar while others resorted to air guitars. A whole host of idiots were headbanging and droning along with the backup vocals: the Deimon idiots (Monta, Sena and Suzuna, who were immediately joined by the Ha-Ha brothers as they entered) and other idiots (Kotarô, Mizumachi). Others who were watching from their seats stomped their feet along with the drums, including some of the heaviest lineman in the college league. The room was shaking. Hiruma’s falsetto was wild and impeccable.

Gen spied an empty spot in the far corner of the room and settled in. He had never sung at karaoke before and he was not about to start— he was truly just there for the show. Immediately he ordered a beer for himself and for his co-workers through the electronic touchpad menu ( _not_ to be confused with the electronic touch pad for entering song requests) then leaned back to watch the performance with a bemused smile.

Before he knew what was happening, Anezaki Mamori was in front of him… with a frown on her face and her hands on her hips. 

“Musashi!” Anezaki said, her voice barely audible over the hard rock that filled the room. 

Gen could only gaze back, doing his best not to look stunned. Over the past week he had seen her eyes flash through his mind countless times, but this time they weren’t just a figment of his imagination. Blue, intense, shining… All he could do was helplessly wonder what he had done.

But she couldn’t hold the disapproving expression for long and cracked a smile as she scolded him. “You stole my spot!” 

Gen felt embarrassment creep up his neck as Mamori reached out and took her bag from beside him, which he somehow hadn't noticed before. She waved for him to sit back down as he moved to let her have her seat back.

“It’s fine, it’s fine— I’m teasing you! But if you move over a bit, there might be room for me between you and Kurita.” She seemed to be trying to hide her interest in the box of cream puffs that their massive friend had brought. “If you would be so kind...” 

Mamori squeezed in beside him on the bench, and Kurita enthusiastically presented her with an assortment of treats which they proceeded to discuss in detail. A waitress appeared in the doorway to deliver the drink orders. What ought to have been an air guitar solo had become a frighteningly realistic air guitar vs real guitar duel between Hiruma and Akaba. Gen took a sip of beer, then sat back and let the noise of the room wash over him, inhaling deeply to try to relax after a long week. The easy-to-wipe imitation leather seating offered up its familiar plastic aroma, but another scent filled his lungs as well. A clean, slightly sweet smell with a smooth base of vanilla… and something else. Familiar, but he couldn’t place it. It reminded him of working in the garden in the cool of nightfall. 

“Musashi, do you want one?”

Kurita’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. His friend was holding out the box of cream puffs, presumably out of politeness since he should really know Gen didn’t love desserts. Mamori already had one balanced between her fingers, looking thoughtfully at the dainty bite she had taken from the side.

“Oh, I think they changed something in the recipe…” she said. 

“Really??” Kurita exclaimed. He abandoned the box and scooped up one of the cream puffs to examine it, then engulfed it in his mouth. “Hmm, mmhmmm… oh, you’re right… what is it?”

“I’m not sure… I think they’ve changed the vanilla? You know they were using Madagascar vanilla beans before but I heard...” 

A crooked smile broke on Gen’s face and he shook his head. He had been distracted by the smell of a pastry. 

_Ah, it’s alright // You’re doing fine // You’ve been_ — _Thunderstruck!_

He reached out for his beer and took another gulp. It was cold and refreshing and just the thing to relax. But as he put the glass back down, he felt a hand suddenly grab his wrist. Two hands, with slender, pale fingers. 

“Oh my goodness! Musashi!!!”

Anezaki was staring at his hand, and pulled his wrist closer so she could examine the bandage wrapped around his palm. Then she anxiously looked up into his eyes. “What happened?” 

_You’ve been thunderstruck!_

Gen took a deep breath. A deep breath of vanilla… and something else, something familiar. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” she repeated dubiously, examining the extensive taping that kept the gauze fixed to his palm.

“Just a scratch.” 

He couldn’t very well tell her that his hand had slipped as he was thinking of those deep, still pools of blue _... while he was_ _using power tools._ He of all people knew better than to lose focus on the job. It was embarrassing enough without going into the details. He was just lucky it hadn't been more serious.

“Yeeeeah, sure, just a scratch. But booooy oh boy, was there ever some blood!” 

The last chords of the song were still reverberating but the backup singers had finished their part and the Ha Ha Brothers slid onto the bench beside him, their faces brimming with mischief. Gen frowned as Kuroki draped an arm over his shoulder, with Toganô at his side. Both of them had been at the main worksite and seen the entire incident. 

Mamori looked from Gen to his employees in alarm. “How much blood?”

The two witnesses grinned. “Oh, let’s just say enough to make grown men faint.” 

Gen groaned internally. And maybe a little externally.

“Faint!?” 

“Gaô had to carry him down from the scaffolding,” Toganô added. 

Jûmonji, the only one of the Ha Ha Brothers who didn't work for Takekura, was eagerly taking in the tale and grinned with them. “At least Gaô wasn't the one doing the fainting. I mean, yeah the Babels have a bunch of stupidly strong guys but can you imagine them trying to carry him?”

Kuroki nodded. “Worse than dragging the fat ass up a mountain!”

“Kehkehkeh!” Hiruma also had an ear trained on their conversation, of course. “Good thing holding the pigskin isn’t part of someone's job description, fuckin’ old man!” Hiruma's laughter likely would not have had the wild abandon that it did if the injury might impact the Babels' chances in the tournament. 

Mamori still held Gen’s wrist between both her hands, her fingers tightening at each piece of information. She looked at him with deep concern and for a moment he thought his heart might stop. “Musashi, are you okay? Did you have a doctor look at it?”

At the front of the room, Monta was passionately crooning a love song by some boy band, looking almost devastated at the attention being bestowed upon Gen. 

“It really didn’t call for that, but yes,” Gen sighed. Someone had called Kid who had driven him to the nearest clinic, they told him, even though he didn't really remember that part. “I’m fine. It’s really nothing.”

This physician-approved assurance seemed to calm her, at least. “Thank goodness. Please be careful.”

She put his hand down with a little pat.

Little by little, Gen felt his chest relax and his breath slowly release, but his pulse remained abnormally fast. It was confusing. He stole a glance at the woman beside him. He had known Anezaki pretty well for a long time, and he never thought of her as anything more than a friend. A good friend. A close friend? It had been nearly seven years since they had started as freshmen at Deimon. How could one jarring glimpse of something in her eyes that he wasn’t sure he was even supposed to see suddenly change how he felt about her after all that time? He couldn’t explain it. But he had so far failed miserably at ignoring it. 

Nursing his drink as the night went on, Gen tried to focus on the show. He watched his friends and their full spectrum of performances: from pensive enka to anime theme songs, the practiced classics to botched attempts at pop songs selected on a whim. 

Yukimitsu chose _Life on Mars_ , and Hiruma joined in for an impassioned duet. The way the two former teammates were looking at one another, Gen suspected Hiruma wouldn't be crashing at his place that night. Meanwhile, Anezaki appeared perfectly content, if slightly bemused, as she watched their demon being spectacular. Her eyes were shining and her face seemed to almost glow. It was the polar opposite of that empty gaze that Gen couldn't forget, but it conjured the same memory again, gnawing at him like a puzzle he couldn't seem to solve. Something in his chest ached. 

The Bowie impersonations faded away and the next song appeared on the screen. 

"Come on Mamo-nee! I'm counting on you!" Suzuna tossed a microphone to Mamori, who squinted at the title of the song Suzuna had chosen for their duet in disbelief. 

"Ooh English! English!" an assortment of idiots chanted. 

"Mamo-nee! Suzu-chan!" Sena and Monta called out in encouragement.

The song started with barely two beats of instrumental intro, so Mamori had no time to protest. 

" _Aaaaaaaah I'll tell you want, what I really really want!_ " Suzuna belted out.

" _So tell me what you want, what you really really want!_ " Mamori sang back.

Gen knew the song, better than he might have liked, to be honest. It was the debut single of the Spice Girls, the British pop sensation that had become big in Japan back when he was still in elementary school. While he was re-enacting colour rangers on the playground with his friends, his sister had been making up Spice Girls routines. She was a few years older than him and had been much more invested in pop culture at the time the group became stars, playing their songs on repeat until Gen thought he would lose his mind. But it had been a long time since he had last heard the song the former Deimon duo were singing, and he was amused to notice he held a strange affection toward it. 

Anyway, it was damn catchy. 

_"If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends!"_

_"Make it last forever ~ friendship never ends…"_

Anezaki's voice wasn't the stuff of angels or nightingales, but it was a good, honest voice (and a good deal more musical than Suzuna’s, for whatever that was worth). He watched her race through a flurry of lyrics with a determined expression, trying to resist the pull of the katakana notation on the screen that would only shift her pronunciation into a garbled Japanese approximation of the English words. Victory showed on her face as she made it to the slower, more familiar chorus. She shared a beaming smile with Suzuna as the challenging song became easy and fun. Idiots danced on either side of the screen. Gen leaned back, watching with unexplainable pride.

Even after the song had ended and others took up the microphone, Gen felt snippets of the tune running through his brain on repeat. At a certain point he almost caught himself _humming_ , and he couldn't decide if he should frown at that or shake his head in resignation, ultimately doing both. Gen felt like his brain was doing something, something without his permission, fitting all those skipped heartbeats and half-hopes together into something new. 

He more than liked her. That much was clear.

By the time the former Devil Bats and their other companions streamed out of the building and into the street, Gen found himself with a curious idea: if his feelings about Anezaki had changed, maybe her feelings could change, too.

The group moved toward the intersection in clusters of conversation at different speeds. One cluster, with Hiruma, Akaba, Kurita, Komusubi and Yukimitsu, began to cross before the light changed, which left Gen waiting at the curb with Mamori and Suzuna. The rest of the Enma gang were lagging behind chatting loudly and laughing with the Ha Ha Brothers, many of them noticeably drunk. Mamori stifled a yawn behind a hand and smoothed a fold on the sleeve of her cardigan. Suzuna’s ears perked up at something and she flitted back to interrogate her teammates mercilessly, leaving Gen and Mamori momentarily alone together. 

Gen glanced at the brunette beside him. It wasn’t like the odds were completely zero, which should have been enough for a Deimon alumni. Anyway, maybe being rejected would put this madness to rest. After the intersection they would all break off in different directions. There wouldn’t be a better moment. He took a deep breath, before he could lose his nerve… 

"Hey, Anezaki," he said, shoving his hands deep in his hoodie pockets to resist wiping his palms on his pants. "Why don't we get dinner sometime…?"

She looked at him with a pleasant but confused smile, her head slightly tilted as if a giant question mark hung over her. Like she couldn't even understand what he was suggesting. Gen had a sinking feeling, but he couldn't run away, no matter how much he wished he could take back the question. He should have expected this. He _had_ expected it, actually, almost precisely this. He stared at the traffic light, preparing himself to say good night when the signal changed and shrug off his unjustified disappointment with the same impassive expression.

"Oh!" Mamori replied after a moment, as if she had slowly translated his words from an alien language. “Of course. I’d be happy to.”

Gen blinked a bit dumbfoundedly, trying to ignore the way her eyes were looking up into his. Had she just said yes? Somehow he couldn't think of what he was supposed to say next. As his mind spun he was aware of moments passing, each one feeling unbearably long, until she rescued him (perhaps without realizing) from his stunned silence by adding politely, “Let me know when would work best for you.”

“Ah, yeah…” He scanned his mental calendar. There were not a lot of options, to be honest. He could hear the ruckus of Sena and the others getting closer.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” he suggested. His face wouldn't betray him, he knew, but his voice probably sounded like he was grasping at straws. “Around seven?”

"I finish work at seven. How about eight?" Mamori replied just as the others pulled up beside them. The traffic lights changed and the group of bodies moved almost as one. 

“Okay— I’ll message you,” Gen managed to say over the heads of his intoxicated friends. 

Suzuna appeared at Mamori’s elbow with inquisitive eyes. 

“Sounds good. Let me know,” Mamori smiled. 

They had reached the sidewalk on the other side of the street and the goodbyes began almost immediately. The Ha Ha brothers grabbed him from each side and resumed roasting him about his very manly tolerance of the sight of blood. 

Gen barely heard a word they said.

  
  


### SATURDAY - _Giardino di Figaro_

It was extremely short notice for a weekend reservation, but Gen was able to call in a favour from a client: a classy pizzeria that had an unsettled balance with Takekura Construction for renovation work on their rooftop terrasse. 

It wasn't too fancy, which was important because he certainly didn’t have anything appropriate to wear to a real high-end place and no time, energy or money to sink on acquiring anything. But at least it wasn’t a family diner (the times when he did eat out was usually when he met up with Hiruma and Kurita at the diner Anezaki worked at, but that was obviously out of the question). Once his sister had assured him that if there was the option to eat pizza with a fork and knife, it would be an acceptable first date location. And the rooftop terrasse _was_ pretty nice, if he did say so himself. 

He settled on his newest pair of black pants (technically jeans— part of him hoped that wouldn’t be obvious at night, and another part of him could not find it in him to care) and the collared shirt that his mother had insisted he buy _explicitly_ for the purpose of wearing on dates, a deep green with barely contrasting stitching that was still more flashy than he might have liked. He rolled the sleeves back off his forearms out of habit.

As he waited at the meeting spot outside the station, Gen fidgeted with the edge of his pants pockets, where he might confidently hook his thumbs normally. His chest felt tight. Maybe the shirt had shrunk in the wash. He touched the front to see if it was gaping… it didn’t look like it was, but he wondered if he should unbutton it. Realizing his undershirt was probably too low-cut for the occasion, however, he decided against it. As he let his hands drop he felt himself exhale a long, tense breath. 

He frowned at himself. _You’ve been on dates before, idiot._

Mamori appeared out of the crowd, smiling and greeting him warmly. He was relieved to see she was dressed more or less in her usual style, careful and pretty but she didn’t seem to be expecting anything fancy. If this had been one of those blind dates, there would be heels and jewellery and skimpy cardigans over cocktail dresses that seemed two sizes too small. Not to mention all the make-up. Gen peered at her face curiously as they walked down the arcaded street to the restaurant, searching for traces of eyeliner or mascara, but when Mamori caught him looking he abruptly looked away. 

Although he had been a bit worried that they might pass the entire meal in silence unless he somehow miraculously came up with conversation starters, Mamori effortlessly took up the task. She asked benign but genuine questions about his family (the baby was fine but his sister was still slowly recovering), how the business was going (about which he attempted to convey cautious optimism rather than the more honest sense of struggling to keep his head above water), and the upcoming X-league tournament. 

It was on this latter topic that they focused most of their attention, much to Gen’s relief. They discussed the Babels' performance in the spring tournament at length, along with the strengths and weaknesses of the corporate teams Takekura Construction was likely to face in the upcoming matches. In their conversation, Mamori proved herself to be well acquainted with all the stats and game histories, despite the fact her own college team would not face any of the X-league teams until the winners of the tournament advanced to face the college champions at the Rice Bowl, still over three months away. 

Gen complimented her on her knowledge.

"Maybe the Babels should hire you as our manager," he joked with a soft chuckle. 

But Mamori didn't laugh. She looked back at him with an unchanged expression. "Isn't that why I'm here?" 

For a beat, Gen was speechless. "What...?"

"Didn't you invite me for dinner to ask me to be the Babels' manager? I brushed up on the X-league stats, of course, otherwise how could we really have a serious discussion about it?" 

"You, Anezaki? The Babels' manager?" Gen repeated, still stunned. He tried to process what she was suggesting. Even if it wasn't a joke, the idea made him almost laugh out loud, although all that came out was a scoff. "Are you crazy? Hiruma would murder me." 

Once again, Mamori only blinked at him, her composure unphased. "Wasn't this his idea?"

Gen felt his mind reel. He gripped the edge of the table with his bandaged hand as if to give himself a tangible connection to reality. "What do you mean, _his idea_? You’re saying Hiruma had something to do with this? Did he put you up to it?" 

Part of the pact when Gen, Kurita and Hiruma had parted ways after graduation was that they wouldn’t interfere in each others’ teams. The whole thing would be pointless if it wasn’t a contest of their own abilities, afterall, and at the time Hiruma had been in full agreement. But time was running out: Hiruma was running out of patience and Gen was running out of ideas of how to keep his end of the bargain.

Slowly the look on Anezaki's face changed, as if she had finally realized that there had been some misunderstanding. 

"No! No, Hiruma didn't _say_ anything… I just assumed because you two are so close… and I thought…" she stammered apologetically. Finally she sighed and collected her thoughts enough to make a full sentence. "We graduate this year. More than anything, Hiruma wants to face the Babels at the Rice Bowl. You know that, I’m sure. So, if I can help you get there, I think Hiruma would approve. That's all. I thought maybe he had the same idea and suggested it. I'm sorry if I misunderstood."

Gen looked at her thoughtfully as she closed her eyes and inclined slightly over her margherita pizza as if to atone for something. After being so… nervous (for lack of a better word) about asking her out and the whole ordeal of trying to make sure the date went smoothly, it turned out she had thought it was just a business meeting. 

It stung a bit. 

But it also _made sense._ He was in over his head with the company and the team and everything else. He needed support, and a capable manager was more than he could hope for given the circumstances. 

It also might have helped her explain to herself why this guy who had barely talked to her since high school had suddenly invited her for dinner. _Fair enough._

“Would you really be willing to quit the Wizards?” Gen asked skeptically. He still couldn't believe the offer was serious.

“I don’t plan on quitting the Wizards,” she replied. 

Gen couldn’t help but smile. Of course she didn't. This was Anezaki Mamori, after all. "How would that work? They're our rivals. Do you even have time to be a manager for two teams anyway, with your classes and everything?"

"This term I only have my work placement and a couple electives,” she assured him. “As for the Wizards, my responsibilities aren't as demanding as they were for the Devil Bats since there are other managers too. And anyway, we won't be rivals until the last game. Until then, there is no conflict."

They clearly both shared the assumption that SaikyôDai would be the Koshien champions. Although that technically wasn't a given, it was, at the very least, historically accurate. The past two years it was the Wizards who had won the college league title, although the fight had been fierce among the contenders, many of whom were their own dear mutual friends as well. Nothing was a given, but this particular scenario had to be taken seriously.

"For the Rice Bowl, you would have to choose," he concluded. "Us or them. Whichever team you choose will have an advantage."

Anezaki nodded. For once her expression was slightly uncertain. 

Gen frowned. "Are you okay with that?" 

She looked at him with a hesitant smile. "We can worry about that bridge when we cross it. The goal is to make sure the Wizards play the Babels. That’s what matters."

"Well,” Gen sighed, running a hand through his neatly-cropped hair. The shaggy mohawk might have struck terror into opponents in highschool, but that was not the effect he was looking for with his clients. Or his dates. "It probably won't come to that anyway. The chances of the Babels making it to the Rice Bowl are—"

"—eighty-four to one," Anezaki finished for him. Her grin gleamed back at him. "But they'll be better if you have me."

"Ah, you have really been spending a bit too much time with a certain someone…" Gen smirked. "I'm surprised you haven't sprouted fangs yet." 

"Are you going to hold that against me?" she asked, with a playful smile on her face.

The two old friends tried to suppress chuckles behind their very mature and very amused expressions. 

_This could be fine,_ Gen thought. He hadn't felt nervous since they met at the station. _Maybe it isn't what I was aiming for, but what more could I want?_

They composed themselves and turned back to their plates under the candles and patio lights. He thought back on everything she had said. That it wasn’t Hiruma’s idea. That she would take on the extra burden, just so the Wizards and Babels could face one another in that final match… Gen shook his head slowly, almost bewildered but on a certain level not surprised. “You would do all this...” 

It felt like intruding on her most private thoughts to complete the sentence, but after a moment Mamori finished it softly. “For him… of course. For him.”

Gen couldn’t even find it in him to feel jealous. In fact, he found that he understood the feeling. To love that man so much you would do almost anything for him, without even the hope of a thank you. 

_Good grief, we have so much in common,_ he realized suddenly. Their lives were already tangled up in one another, and Hiruma was the linchpin. But that didn’t need to be the only thing… 

"Anezaki," he said after a few more minutes. He watched as she looked up at him from the remains of her meal, with none of the fluttering eyelids or coy looks that had plagued so many awkward dates. Just blue. Intent. Shining. "I didn't invite you out to ask you to be the Babels' manager."

He let that sentence hang in the air a moment. But when the look on her face showed that she was struggling to puzzle out his meaning, he gave in and continued: "But I would be crazy to pass up your offer. The Babels would be lucky to have you."

Anezaki smiled. 

(Then she spotted tiramisu on the desert menu, and let out a dreamy sigh.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not actually sure how popular the Spice Girls were among Japanese children, but according to Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wannabe), they did release their first single (Wannabe) in Japan two weeks before the UK release as part of their marketing strategy to be seen as an international act. “The song was placed into heavy rotation on FM stations in Japan” and the girls made three trips to Japan in 1996. The Spice Girls were in Japan when Wannabe made #1 on the UK charts. That’s more than anyone really needed to know for the purposes of this fic. I’m not even a big fan but nostalgia is powerful and what else do you sing at karaoke to inspire characters to think ‘friends can be lovers’ ??


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mamori informs the Wizards of her new alliance, then attends her first Babels practice.
> 
> (I still don't get this sport so please don't squint too hard at the 'football' parts!)

### MONDAY MORNING -- SaikyôDai Wizards 

The Wizards morning practice began an hour before the first period, but those who arrived early had already begun warming up. All the starters and the second string were changed and ready when they gathered around the bleachers for the debriefing, all except Agon, as usual. Mamori, already partway into the announcements, only glanced at him as he sauntered in, pushing a freshman out of the way to take a seat in the front row. She continued smoothly, her frown barely perceptible except to those who knew her well. 

“...so if this applies to you, please be sure to let myself or one of the other support team members know if necessary. Otherwise, the last announcement is that starting today I will be supporting the Takekura Construction Babels in the X-league, so I will not be available for evening practices,” she concluded. “But I will continue to be present for the Wizards morning and afternoon practices, as always. I am confident the other managers are more than capable of taking care of the evening practices. So I thank you for your patience as we make the necessary adjustments.” 

There was a soft murmur from freshmen and even some sophmores in the back, although the senior cohort kept their own reactions to glances. 

All except Agon. 

“Eh??!” the brawny man with long ropes for hair sneered at the sky. “Wow… Throwing us away for some loser construction workers, huh?”

“I’m sure you have no problem with this, Agon,” Mamori said primly. “Considering you have already personally missed more practices than this in the past term alone.”

“Tch, except I wasn’t off prancing around with _another team_ , was I?” He levelled his eyes on her. “Well, it figures… All it takes is someone to get you on your back for you to turn traitor, is that it?” 

The team collectively sucked in their breath. They didn't need to look at her to know a dark cloud was forming over Mamori’s glare: they could feel the chill of it in their spines. 

Ikkyû fluttered anxiously beside Agon, turning back and forth between them as he tried to stammer out whatever words might de-escalate the impending conflict, while Taka folded his arms and closed his eyes, completely unsurprised at the direction the meeting had taken. Hiruma leaned his semiautomatic rifle casually against his shoulder, his chewing gum bubble obscuring his face as he watched the argument unfold.

Mamori cast an imperious look down on Agon. “You will apologize.” 

Agon snorted. “Why should I?”

Jûmonji and Akaba glanced between the two, but Yamato’s eyes never left Agon. Their manager and the perennial MVP had not always been at odds, but after Agon suffered successive failed attempts at charming her in their first year, their relationship had soured. After that, he never pretended to be pleasant or polite, but his remarks had never been so explicit— at least not when directed at Anezaki herself. 

“Far be it from me to stop you from saying whatever you want about me behind my back, Agon.” Mamori seemed to have somehow grown taller. “But you _will_ treat me with respect in front of the team.”

“Yeah? I’m sick of you and your double standards.” Agon leaned back, his arms propping himself up against the bench. “If some people around here actually fucked our manager as much as they talked about it, maybe you wouldn’t be spreading your legs for other teams.” 

Mamori did not so much as flinch at Agon's comments, but her eyes grew ever darker. She cast a steel-cold gaze over the men huddled around the bench. No one spoke, or dared to move, not even to shift their weight under the leadened tension in the air.

Her eyes returned to Agon. After a deadly second she spoke. 

“Apologize.”

Agon matched her glare through his blue-tinted shades. “It’s a bit rude considering how many times I’ve offered to take care of you. Treacherous bitch.”

Her expression was stormy, but her voice was absolutely proper. “Here I had thought there wouldn’t be a problem leaving the Wizards on their own for a couple practices… I didn’t realize that apparently I am not needed here at all.” 

Mamori set her clipboard on the bench beside her, along with the lanyard with her stopwatch and whistle. 

“All the best to you in the fall tournament,” she said, dipping her head in a formal bow to the rest of the team.

Then she turned and walked away.

A dull rumble of muttering and surprise at the exchange was threatening to become something more when Hiruma fired a round of bullets into the air and snapped at everyone to get to practice. They obeyed, with an abundance of backward glances and whispers. 

In the clubhouse Mamori was furiously packing her spare sweater and favourite teacup into her bag. When she looked up, Hiruma was leaning in the doorway casually, forming his gum into another bubble as he watched her.

“Kehkehkeh! So the fuckin’ old man’s finally getting serious about the Rice Bowl, eh? That underhanded bastard...” 

Mamori shot a dagger-filled glare at him. “Really? _That’s_ what you have to say right now?” 

She searched the room for anything else she might have forgotten, then slung her bag over her shoulder and made to leave. Hiruma didn’t move from the exit. She stopped in front of him and continued to glare. 

“Anyway, it was my idea,” she told him. “Musashi would never impose. As you know perfectly well.”

Hiruma let the bubble pop with a frown. Then he folded the gum under his tongue. “Keh. Your idea, fuckin’ manager?”

Mamori sighed. Furiously. “I wasn’t planning to quit the Wizards! I don’t care how much of a genius player he is, Hiruma, I don’t care if it’s our last season, I will not suffer being treated with so little respect—”

Hiruma flashed his famously greedy smirk and adjusted the angle of his gun on his shoulder. Mamori couldn’t quite decode what that meant. 

“Don’t worry. You’ll be back,” he said, still grinning.

“I won’t come back unless Agon apologizes,” she corrected him. “In front of everyone. You know that will never happen.”

“Keh! Never?” he laughed. “Throwing heavyweight words like that around so carelessly! Kehkehkeh! Anyway, I can’t just let the old man steal my manager without a fight!”

Mamori gave him a weary look. “The Wizards will be fine without me. You know that. But leave Musashi alone, none of this is his fault.”

“No? Seems to me he was the one who arranged the meeting…”

Mamori opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again, frowning. 

“You’ll be back,” Hiruma smiled, turning away from the clubhouse door. “But in the meantime, that bloody construction team better climb those brackets all the way to the finals, or I’ll fuckin’ kill you _AND_ that decrepit old man! Kehkehkehkeh!!!!”

### MONDAY EVENING - Babels practice

When Anezaki appeared at the Takekura Construction Babel’s practice that night, Gen almost expected a cheer to erupt from the team. The way they had taken the news during their lunch break when he told the guys at the main worksite had been more than positive. There had been a buoyant optimism in their banter for the rest of the day, joking how they were saved from Musashi’s dismal sense of organization (he thought they were exaggerating a little), how they’d suddenly be unstoppable, as they could exploit all the secrets of SaikyôDai (not that any of them really believed that), or what an effective source of motivation having a pretty face around could be (perhaps a bit too accurate for some parties), and how they couldn't slack anymore but would have to show off for Lady Luck herself (referring to her reputation from some legendary Deimon escapade at a casino, something Gen still could barely believe had actually happened)… 

But when they saw her waiting on the bench as they exited the change rooms of the municipal facilities they rented for their practices, each player displayed an excessively cool masculinity, with stoic expressions and little more than a nod and the occasional 'hey' as a greeting.

She had arrived early, and that gave Gen a sinking feeling. It seemed to confirm certain whispers that were being traded through the interpersonal networks of players that criss-crossed blissfully over any divide that might be imagined between the college and corporate leagues.

That morning he had run a quick repair job for the Enma University football club (another loyal customer, although for somewhat different types of work), and it was there that he heard that Anezaki had quit the Wizards. It had been less than two days since she had told him she planned to stay on with SaikyôDai, which he had taken to mean she was looking for a little extra challenge after managing the same well-staffed team for three years. After all, it couldn’t be a _complete_ act of self-sacrifice for the sake of making Hiruma’s dreams come true, no matter how bewitching that monster might be. 

So when word from the Enma Fires was that she had quit, he was inclined to treat it as just a rumour. The problem was, multiple sources told the same tale: Kotarô heard it from Akaba and Unsui through Ikkyû. Even more ominously, Unsui had forbidden any of them from saying _why_ it had happened, chasing them all off to practice with the unassailable authority of an exasperated upper-classman and protective older brother.

Hiruma had texted Gen earlier with a warning not to steal his « fuckin’ manager ». It was followed by his usual barrage of evil laughter emoticons, but nothing more. This was more or less what Gen had expected from him, but provided little insight into what had actually happened.

It was when he got back to the Takekura job site that Toganô and Kuroki (who got their SaikyôDai updates through Jûmonji) hinted that Agon had been involved. At that point, Gen decided he didn’t want to know the details. All he could do was heave a heavy sigh and hope for the best. 

And Anezaki herself had not brought it up so far. She had taken the stacks of stats and schedules and other files he had given her and studied them diligently on the sidelines as they practiced, occasionally speaking with the retired quarterback who had agreed to serve as their coach for a modest stipend. 

When the evening practice ended, the sky was dark except the hazy glow of the city and the blinding beams of the floodlights on the field. The team scattered in all directions: the facilities they were renting didn't have showers, so most of the guys just stripped their outer layers on the sidelines and headed home to properly change still drenched in sweat. Those who didn't drive generally caught a ride with someone who did, although some lived close enough to walk and a few were brazen enough to take the train anyway. 

Gen approached the bench, conscious that he probably smelled like…. well, she knew what American football practice smelled like. 

"Good work today." Anezaki uttered the common phrase that might be extended to anyone regardless of how good their work had been with an honest candor that made the words seem perfectly sincere. 

"So, what do you think?" Gen asked with a smug trace of a smile. "Regretting your offer yet?" 

Anezaki replied with a smile of her own. The fringe of her hair covered her eyes too much, but they still shone where they managed to catch the light. "I've seen worse. As you know. Koyama-sensei and I have been talking."

"I saw." Gen didn't like the look on the coach's face. He seemed too pleased.

"I like this young lady, Takekura. Real promise, that's what I see." 

Gen suppressed a sigh and turned to Anezaki. "I suppose you're going to tell me we need to sign on some more players." 

"Yes." 

But it didn't matter if it was a cranky old man or the prettiest woman on earth asking, the answer hadn't changed. "Not an option, sorry."

"There are two weeks before the tournament starts," she reminded him. "There's still time if we move quickly."

"That may be true. But we don't have any money," he replied. "I can't fire guys who have worked for this company half their lives just to hire football players."

Anezaki nodded thoughtfully. "What about guys from outside the company?" 

Gen shook his head. "We had tryouts in the spring. Anyone in the nearby districts who wanted to play football for free showed up. Few enough. We weren't very picky, either. You saw most of them tonight."

Most of the volunteer members were second string, older guys with families and little time to dedicate to practice, but had signed up for the exercise, camaraderie or nostalgia. They had hoped to at least poach Banba after he graduated from SaikyôDai in the spring, but unfortunately his company had transferred him to their Okinawa branch soon after he was hired. There had been similar stories with much of the rest of his college league cohort: some had scattered, some were working too much overtime in their entry-level positions to join, and of course some were playing with their new company teams. 

"I see…" she said, watching as a few stragglers slammed their car doors and pulled out of the gravel parking lot. She turned back to the papers beside her for a moment. "So you aren't opposed, in principle."

Gen wasn't sure that required a reply. Of course if they could strengthen their offense, or even fill the holes in their defense, it would be to their advantage. Three years of trying to run a company football club had meant three years of trying to scrounge up and hold onto talent. They had started from nothing and built up a respectable team, but there was only so far a humble family business could go. For companies with money, especially transnational corporations who could transfer employees from overseas branches, or who could afford to put players on the payroll with empty job titles, having a fair shot at the Rice Bowl was a non-issue. And those were the very teams they would have to beat to get there. If it had seemed impossible the first year, the reality of how uneven the playing field was had become painfully stark with experience. They hadn’t even managed to win the Pearl Bowl that spring, how could they dream of the Rice Bowl? And if they didn’t make it this year, what would it even matter?

"I'll take care of it, then," she said in a reassuring tone. Maybe she had detected his sense of defeat on his face somehow. "Don't worry."

He nodded to show he had heard her, but couldn't find it in him to change his expression. He had already accepted that they would have to work with what they had. Which would mean more practices, more bookings and scheduling, more coordination with the team… at least now he could count on her to take care of much of those details. Maybe he could just focus on the business and show up to practice and kick things. 

Anezaki was gathering up the binders and folders and papers into a cumbersome-looking stack. 

"I'll take these home tonight."

"As long as you promise to bring them back..." he began with his deadpan voice. The only hint he was joking was the crooked corner of his lips. "Why don't I–"

"I'll drive you home," Coach Koyama announced, stealing the words from Gen's mouth. "That's far too much to make a young lady lug around on the train!" 

Anezaki thanked him and Koyama ushered her toward his car as Gen watched helplessly. When she passed in front of him, he caught the fresh scent of vanilla and that other familiar fragrance that he couldn't place. For some reason he glanced at the darkest part of the sky but there was too much glow from the floodlights to see any stars. Floodlights that he should really shut off. 

Gen crossed the field to the light panel control box beside the structure that housed the change rooms and limited storage for the various sports groups that shared the municipal athletic grounds, then checked that everything was locked up. He should really get an extra key for the facilities to give Anezaki next time. Glancing back at the parking lot, Koyama’s mint green compact car was disappearing down the main road. 

Gen breathed out his disappointment. Even one day earlier he might have been content knowing she had a ride home, whether he was the one taking care of it or not. But her Wizards resignation wasn't the only rumour he had encountered at Enma. 

Earlier in the day, as he repaired a hole in the clubhouse wall roughly the size of Kurita's fist (the result of the misdirected swing of an expertly dodged hug) during the Fires' practice, a petite young woman had perched on a chair beside him, watching with gleaming eyes and her hands gathered under her chin in anticipation. 

"Sooo…?" Taki Suzuna prompted him. 

Gen glanced at her uneasily. He had known her almost as long as Anezaki. She was predictable in her own way, but he still didn't feel entirely comfortable being alone with her. She always seemed to expect him to talk. "Can I help you with something?"

She didn't try to suppress her knowing grin. "How was your D-A-T-E?" Her eyebrows wiggled. Even the tufts of her hair seemed interested in his response.

He sighed and turned his focus back to securing the wire wall patch with a layer of spackle. 

"Musashyan!" Suzuna pouted (as if he didn't have enough nicknames already, she had taken it upon herself make up her own). "You can't leave me hanging like this! Come on, spill!"

"You tell me how it went," he replied. "I'm sure you talk to her more than me."

"The only thing I know about is every single layer of the tiramisu!" she sighed. "And the manager stuff, and that's it!"

"Well, that's pretty much it."

"Wahhh?! There must have been more!"

Gen shrugged. "That's it. It wasn't even a date."

Suzuna stood abruptly. "Not a date?? It was at _Giardino di Figaro_ , and you’re trying to tell me it wasn't a date!?"

"Maybe I might have thought of it as a date at first," he admitted. "But she made it clear that she doesn't think of me that way."

These words did not seem to convince the captain of the Fires' cheerleading squad. "Did you bring flowers? And gaze into her eyes? And tell her how she looks as pretty as the sea as sunset?"

 _The sea at sunset._ No wonder he was so bad at dating. Gen barely paused at his repairs as he shook his head, bewildered at the suggestion. 

"Okay, okay. Don't worry, I can help!" Suzuna tried to rally him. "Where are you taking her next?" 

"I told you, I'm friend-zoned. That's it. And that's fine."

"Did she say that? Did she actually say, 'Musashi, thank you for your attention but I really only think of you as a friend'? Hmm?" 

Her impression of Mamori was uncomfortably accurate. She looked him in the eyes expectantly, and Gen found he had to be the first to look away. 

"Hey, don’t forget this is Mamo-nee we're talking about," Suzuna reminded him. "She's the queen of obliviousness! That, plus your face, the chances she’d figure it out on her own are pretty much zilch.” 

Gen willed his eyebrows to remain perfectly still and not betray his annoyance and skepticism at what sounded like a poorly-veiled accusation. “What exactly is the problem with my face?” 

“C’mon, you know you’re not exactly the most expressive guy!” she chirped on enthusiastically with no hint of remorse. Facts were facts, he supposed. “If you didn't tell her straight up that you're interested in her, _like that,_ then you can't really be sure that you've been rejected. You've gotta be more direct!"

Gen rubbed his forehead with his thumb just under the cloth he wore over his hair to keep it from getting covered in dust and to keep the sweat from dripping down his brow. "Look, it was a longshot anyway. I know I'm not the one who she—"

"Which is exactly why you can't give up!" Suzuna interrupted him. "At least, you have to make sure she really, properly understands… because…"

Suzuna had become uncharacteristically serious. Behind a determined frown it seemed like she might actually be holding back more tumultuous emotion. 

"She's in love with someone else," Gen told her. He didn't really want to get into a whole explanation.

Suzuna nodded. "But…"

"It's not for me to push myself on her. It's her life. It's her choice."

"Yô-nii won't give her the life she deserves. You know that. Even if he loves her back he won't give her that," she persisted. "But she can't see anyone else, it's like she's blind." 

Blinded by the flames, he knew. Hiruma was fire. Mesmerizing and consuming. It was not something Gen could compete against.

"Don't give up," Suzuna said after a moment. She picked up her pom-poms from where she had abandoned them on the table and moved to leave. "At least, make sure she knows. And then, after that… you might need to give her time."

Gen finished the repair at Enma and returned to the main worksite. He had to summon all his concentration to stay focused on the work. He thought he had finally come to terms with the fact that he and Anezaki were just friends. But now he had her close friend and actual cheerleader insisting that he should keep trying. It was confusing to say the least. 

During their lunch break he told his coworkers and teammates about Anezaki joining as the Babel’s manager. As they were returning to work, his phone rang, and when he saw the call display he answered immediately, turning away from the group for privacy. 

“Hey Ma, is everything okay?” he said with a concerned frown. “Is Sis alright?”

“Oh, yes, she’s still stable. We’re all fine, Gen, I’m sorry to worry you,” his mother’s voice filtered through the speaker. “I just thought I could catch you on your lunch break before I forgot. It’s not urgent. I can call back tonight.”

“I’ve got a minute, if it’s quick.” 

“I just wanted to check about the profiles from the matchmaker. If you were interested in meeting any of them I can let—”

Gen pinched his fingers to his nose bridge. He had completely forgotten. 

“I’ll pass for now, Ma. Thanks though…”

“Were these matches not your type? If you have feedback it can help them decide who to suggest.”

It had been his mother who encouraged him to try a matchmaking service. Maybe she had been worried about him being alone while she was away, but Gen had agreed. It wasn’t simply a matter of wanting to make his mother happy, either. The past few months had brought some clarity to him about life. About what he wanted. About the things that mattered. 

“I’ve just got a lot going on right now,” Gen said, looking at his palm. The cut had mostly healed, but he stretched his hand tentatively to test it. 

“Is it the Nakamura job?” she asked. “I thought it was under control.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just a lot…”

“Oh Gen…” his mother said. “I wish I could be there to support you right now. When your sister’s strong enough…”

“I know. I’m okay, don’t worry,” he replied. It was harder to say than he expected. It would be good to have her back. Better than good. But he couldn’t let himself get drawn into that kind of wishful thinking. He gazed up at the sky, then in a low voice that he hoped no one else could hear he said, “I miss you, Ma.” 

“I miss you, too, Gen-Gen.” There was a softness in her voice. “I know you are working hard. But remember that life is not just about carrying a bowl full of oil without spilling. We must also enjoy the sunset…” 

His mother had told him this Buddhist parable a hundred times before. He knew in some versions it was the oil that should be the focus of attention while earthly distractions were resisted, but when she told it the moral was always that hard work and duty had to be balanced with an appreciation of the everyday beauty of life. But for some reason it felt different this time. 

“The sunset…” Gen repeated slowly. 

“Yes. Without spilling a drop. You won’t forget, right?”

“Of course not.” Gen cracked a half-grin that he hoped she could hear on the other end of the line. “Thanks, Ma.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen, in for the long game, has Mamori over for dinner.

### SATURDAY - Takekura residence 

The house was clean. Not sparkling, but presentable. Well, the main floor was clean— at least the rooms that a person would need to pass through to get from the front door to the table. Gen had tidied up the living room which doubled as a dining room, stashing the piles of gardening magazines in a cabinet, tossing the stranded socks in the laundry and even sweeping the floors. After cooking of course the kitchen was a disaster, but the sliding door that divided the two rooms could close that off from view. Almost too late he remembered a crucial room that he had not taken care of yet: the washroom. He liked to think of himself as a fairly neat person but having guests over had a way of making his ordinary standards seem borderline embarrassing, and, thanks to a certain cheerleader, he was actually interested in impressing this guest. He checked the clock. He would have to rush to clean it if he wanted to shower and change in time. He probably wouldn’t have time to shave. 

He had gotten used to rushing, but he still hated it. 

A restaurant might have been simpler. It would have been much less work, less time, less stress, but the finances were at a breaking point and he couldn't justify the cost. That was the main reason he had invited her over for dinner. But it also just felt more comfortable. He hoped she wouldn’t think it was weird. They were old friends, and sometimes people had their friends over for dinner, right? 

The one thing that calmed his nerves was knowing Anezaki was the kind of woman who would not hesitate to say no to an invitation that made her uncomfortable, although she would find the most polite and tactful way to decline. She said she would be happy to come over for dinner, so that's probably what she meant. 

Having her over also ran the risk of being unceremoniously interrupted by a certain devilish friend of theirs, but luckily there was a practice match between ZokuDai and Shuêi that evening, which more or less guaranteed Hiruma would not be stopping by until the wee hours of the morning, if at all.

Once he had put on his cleanest shirt (the green one again, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now), Gen looked around. The stew would be ready without his meddling, and he could straighten things up around the house until the end of time if he let himself. Instead he stepped out the front door to wait on the front porch to get a breath of air before she arrived.

Outside it was twilight. The house was on a fairly large corner lot in an unremarkable mixed-use district in Kanagawa, which allowed the office and reception of Takekura Construction to occupy about a third of the ground floor, fronting the main street with the parking and supply yard. The entrance to the house was around the corner behind a cinderblock fence, a short stone path and a small stoop cluttered with flowerpots. Even if it wasn’t a purely residential suburb and could be a bit boisterous during the day, at night it was quiet. 

Gen leaned against the door and looked out at the ornamental plants that he had learned to care for from his grandfather, a responsibility that Gen had taken over after the old man passed, all those years ago. An arching branch of the long-needled pine had been patiently trained to stretch over the entrance gate. That one was older than Gen’s late father. Some of the shrubs lining the path had been planted much later. He had just pruned them a few days earlier, but he noticed a leaf sticking out from the carefully rounded camellia bush, the one that would bloom waxy pink flowers in midwinter. He resisted the urge to dig out his shears, telling himself to just let it grow until morning. Otherwise he might disappear into the garden and let dinner burn, forcing his guest to go hungry. 

He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. The deep breath of the cool night air unexpectedly caught in his throat as he recognised that familiar scent that he had been trying to place for the past two weeks. Clean, sweet vanilla and something else… he knew it from here, this tiny porch, from this exact time of night: the coolness of twilight. He knew what it was even before he opened his eyes to see the tendrils of tiny white flowers shaped like stars spilling from one of the pots beside the doorstep, outnumbering the few actual stars that were visible so far in the early evening sky.  _ Jasmine.  _

The gate opened and Anezaki appeared under the pine branch with her bright eyes and matching smile, interrupting his thoughts.

“Good evening, Musashi. Pardon the intrusion.”

He blinked, then closed his eyes a moment to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, still leaning with his back against the door and his arms crossed. When he opened his eyes again she was still there. 

“Hey,” he managed to reply. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” she asked, clearly surprised to find him outside. “I didn’t think I was that late…” 

She checked her watch. Gen noted that she was wearing the same cheerful yellow cardigan and mid-length denim skirt that she had worn to karaoke the week before. In other words, she was dressed for an outing with friends. She probably didn’t think of this as a date, but he hadn’t really made an effort to clarify that point beforehand, despite Suzuna’s advice. He wanted to feel things out a bit more before being more upfront. 

“You aren’t late,” he assured her, still surrounded by the fragrant jasmine. He frowned slightly. She had appeared without warning; he hadn’t heard a car. “Did you walk from the station?”

Anezaki made her way up the path and stood just in front of the one small step to the tiny porch, facing him. She shook her head. “Suzuna drove me.” 

“Ah.” 

Suzuna had probably dropped her at the office entrance out of habit. Mentioning Suzuna seemed to put a curious smile on Anzaki’s face which made Gen worry a little. 

“How’s Suzuna doing?” He hoped he sounded natural as he stood and opened the door to let her in. 

“She’s good,” Anezaki said as she crossed under his arm through the entrance and slipped off her shoes. She was still grinning mischievously. “You know, Musashi... I think she really _likes_ you. She didn’t stop talking about how wonderful you are the entire drive over here.”

Gen resisted the urge to press his palm to his face. It was nice to know he had someone in his corner, and he had been a bit… concerned… about the extent to which the cheerleader was meddling behind the scenes. Based on what Anezaki said, it sounded like Suzuna was making some effort to be subtle, which he appreciated. But paired with Anezaki’s obliviousness, it wasn’t really surprising that it had backfired like this. 

At the same time, Anezaki seemed to think she was cleverly reading between the lines of her friend’s behaviour, and was completely unaware of how spectacularly she had failed.  _ Cute _ was the word that came to mind, although it wasn’t one he would normally pin on the grown-up and reasonable Anezaki Mamori. A smile lurked just below the surface of his unwavering expression, threatening to break through.

“Isn’t Suzuna seeing someone?” Gen reminded her. He thought the point was made without bringing up the fact Suzuna hadn’t expressed interest in men since high school anyway. 

“Who can keep track...” Mamori sighed as her striped socks disappeared into the guest slippers. “You know Suzuna, she’s always fluttering from one thing to the next without taking a breath. She could use someone solid and reliable in her life.” 

“Ah.” He supposed there was a compliment in that. “Thanks, I guess?”

Mamori thankfully seemed to pick up on his disinterest in dating her friend as he led her down the hall and dropped the subject. They passed the door that connected to the Takekura Construction office and entered the room that mostly served as the living room but was also the location of the dining table. On it was an earthenware tea set, ready for the inevitable refreshment, and a small glass with a pink cosmos blossom from the garden. The sliding door that divided this room from the kitchen had been carefully closed. 

Gen pulled out a chair from the table for her, but Anezaki was standing politely in the doorway, taking in the details of the room.

“Who built this house?” she asked. 

“My father.” The question had been innocent enough, and the answer should have been easy. But it wasn’t. There was nothing remarkable about that house. It had been hastily rebuilt after a fire the year before Gen was born, using surplus from job sites and the cheapest materials they could buy when they couldn’t find what was needed. There was no charm, little craftsmanship to speak of, and… well, the shoemaker’s children go barefoot, afterall. 

Her eyes fell on the dining table and she stepped closer so she could run her fingers over it. 

“Did you make this?”

That made Gen smile despite himself. The table had been assembled without hardware, instead relying on precise dovetail joints, a simple but timeless design accented by the contrasting grain of the wood. The maple had been sanded and oiled until it was buttery smooth, but it was covered in tiny knicks from years of wear. 

“No, that was my grandfather. I made this, though...” he said, tapping the chair that he was still holding, waiting for her to take a seat. 

It, too, was nothing elaborate, but Mamori contemplated it seriously. In fact, it had taken his entire summer vacation to make it when he was still just a preteen, and one of his proudest moments when finally one of _his_ chairs was allowed at the dinner table. Many of his earlier attempts could still be found around the workshop and other parts of the house, which didn’t even include the ones that had been reduced to firewood. 

"I've never seen something you made before."

"You mean, aside from the entirety of Deimon headquarters and half the Wizards’…?" he pointed out, putting a wounded tone in his voice, and a crooked smile so she knew he was teasing.

"Something you made for yourself, I mean. Not as a job for a client," she explained, with a little embarrassed laugh. She turned her gaze back to the chair. “It’s beautiful.” 

Gen could only acknowledge that with a nod as he told himself to keep his head straight. “I’ll check on the food. You hungry?” 

Soon they were both seated at the table, each with a bowl of meat and potato stew in front of them, along with a bowl of rice and a tiny plate of lightly pickled garden cucumbers. Mamori gave thanks for the food while Gen silently prayed it would be edible. But he had chosen this dish precisely because he could make it with his eyes closed. Hiruma seemed to like it well enough, but then again, Hiruma had a practical approach to food that made him less a connoisseur than a human garburator. He probably would not appreciate the special modification he had made that night, however. 

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” Gen said for good measure. 

“It’s delicious,” she assured him. She savoured the next bite thoughtfully. “Did you add brown sugar?”

“No, just a bunch of mirin,” he replied. Then, completely deadpan, he added: “Seeing as I knew someone was nuts for sweet things.”

Mamori gasped at his jab then grinned. “Well, it’s perfect. I might have to steal the recipe.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he smiled back. Being best friends with a master of coercion had taught him a thing or two, in the end. 

“So, you’re going to make this for me whenever I ask you to, is that it?” 

“Yes ma’am.”

“Well… that’s good, then!” she laughed and took another bite. “You’ll have to invite me again.”

And Gen chuckled and turned to his own food. After a few minutes he noticed that Anezaki was looking at him. Her eyes were shining and she seemed to be suppressing a smile.

“I didn’t think my cooking was _that_ great,” he said. 

“Oh, I was just remembering something…” 

“What kind of something?” 

“...I can’t tell you yet.” 

“Could it be a football something?”

“It could be…” She let her smile break on her face. 

Of course. “About the recruitment?”

“I’m just waiting for confirmation on a few things. But you’re going to be happy,” she practically sang the last words, then skewered a piece of konjac. 

Gen cracked a skeptical half-smile in return and breathed out his nose in a measured sigh. Anything would be better than nothing, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. But then again, if it was Anezaki… had she apprenticed under Hiruma long enough to become a miracle worker? Or was that the kind of thing the domain of singular genius and not something that could be learned? 

“Are you really okay with me making these kinds of decisions without passing them by you first?” she asked. “Not that I think you should worry, but it’s your team.”

He had agreed to let her try to scrounge up some last minute recruits on the condition that he not be involved whatsoever. In his mind it was a waste of time, but she seemed optimistic, and if it turned out she was right, the Babels could only benefit from it. In the worst case scenario, if it somehow turned out to be a terrible pick (something he couldn’t really imagine, considering Anezaki’s extensive experience in this area) they could always keep the guy on the bench. But Gen himself was still completely swamped in a million other headaches, so he had given her free reign.

“I trust you. Just stick to the budget, otherwise knock yourself out,” he replied. “As long as I know what’s going on before the rest of the guys, I’m good. You can tell Kid and Koyama first, obviously.” 

But at that particular moment, Gen wasn’t interested in new team members. After discussing some team business for a few more minutes, he decided there was no point in putting off the question he had planned the entire evening around. Otherwise he might completely lose his nerve.

“Anezaki… putting aside football, what do you want? For your future, I mean.” 

This was a serious question, but in reply, she laughed. A full, wide burst of laughter. She was laughing _at him_ , at what he had said, but unlike most of the times women laughed at him, it didn’t make him uneasy. It almost sounded like music.

“I wouldn’t have signed up to manage _two football teams_ if I could just put aside football!” Anezaki reminded him. 

“That’s good to know,” Gen smiled. Sometimes he wondered if she just did everything she did out of force of habit, or social convenience, or possibly due to some blackmail (despite Hiruma’s claims to the contrary). But in that statement she had also alluded to a little detail that she had managed to avoid all week. “I heard you quit the Wizards…” 

Mamori pursed her lips and sighed. “News travels fast.”

That information had been circulating for days at that point, but he didn’t bother trying to argue. The fact that he had managed to find out barely an hour after she quit only proved her point.

“You said you weren’t planning to leave,” he noted. “Did something change?”

She tapped the edge of her dish with her chopsticks as if searching for an answer, then shrugged. “Nothing changed, really. I had just had enough. They’ll be fine without me.” 

“They’ve been your team for a long time...” he said. The Wizards weren’t the tight-knit gang of friends that the Devil Bats had been, but after so many years they had to mean almost as much to her as the old gang.

She looked back at him for a moment, as if she were too torn between anger and sadness and frustration to speak. Then she deftly changed the subject. 

“What about you, Musashi? Putting football aside, if you can... what do you want for your future?”

Gen looked at her. Then he drew a slow, deep breath. 

“How do you like my garden?” he asked, gesturing to the wall on the opposite side of the room. It was a blank wall of cheap beige paneling, only interrupted by a small window covered with plain blinds. 

Mamori looked from it back to him curiously, then glanced at the wall again. 

“It’s there,” he assured her. “You can go look if you want.”

She studied him a moment, then cautiously stood, crossing the room past the coffee table and family shrine to peek through the blinds. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed in a gasp of surprise.

Although it was dark, he knew what she was seeing. A quarter hectare tucked between the construction supply yard and the fence of the neighboring lot, a lush green that would only appear as leafy shadows at night. In the furthest east corner was the vegetable plot, where a few of the ingredients of the stew had been grown. The rest was a carefully curated assortment of flowering plants that assured something was in bloom at every moment of every season. Some species needed more attention than others, but Gen liked nothing more than making sure each one was cared for. 

“I want to open that up,” he told her, gesturing at the wall again. “Put in a set of sliding pane windows on the outside and panel walls in here, with a long hall in between with a wood floor, like in those old farmhouses. I want my kids to be able run down those halls like crazy, and have that relief of garden air moving through the house in summer. A house filled with light and air. ”

Mamori stepped back from the window to imagine the changes he was describing. “Yes… that would be wonderful.”

“It would be a huge job,” Gen shrugged and cleared the dishes from the table. He had told her his innermost dream on a gamble and he wasn’t sure he could bear just sitting there waiting to see how it played out. “I can’t imagine ever having time to make it happen.”

She considered the wall again and everything he had said and nodded. “You’ll find a way.” 

Gen returned with a kettle for the tea, sliding the kitchen door shut behind him. “I know I should be grateful just to have a roof over my head. But doesn’t everyone want their kids to have a better childhood than they had?”

He wondered how much she knew about his childhood. Hiruma wouldn’t have told her, but Kurita had a tendency of sharing things that his friends might rather keep private. Helpfully sharing, in his friend’s own mind anyway, and no doubt with the best of intentions. Gen had no idea if she realized he was not simply referring to the structure of his childhood home. 

Mamori returned to the table slowly. She sank into the chair and took the cup that Gen had poured for her with a distant look. The eyes that were usually so bright had become deep and still. 

Gen’s stomach knotted and so did his tongue. 

Those eyes had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He should have guessed that this might happen, but somehow he hadn’t prepared for it. All he wanted was to have an honest discussion about the future. To figure out if he was completely off-base with the mundane domestic fantasies he had caught himself imagining or if there might be something there. He hadn’t thought his heart would be in his throat. 

After sipping tea wordlessly for a moment, it was Mamori who broke the silence.

"Your children will be lucky to grow up in this house," she said with a smile that he swore seemed forced. But her voice was perfectly natural, a soft kindness that he had heard from her many times before. 

If she could so smoothly recover, he should be able to at least say something. 

"Anezaki… don't you want a family?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

This was the real question. For the woman who was best known for acting as a mom toward her friends and teammates… it seemed so obvious that she should want to become a mother to her own actual children. That was an assumption he would rather confirm before presuming on her attention, however. 

Mamori seemed uncertain about how to respond. She studied the irregular curve of the pottery of the teacup and said nothing. 

Gen frowned, suppressing a sigh. "You know Hiruma's not the kind of guy who's going to get married, don’t you?"

"Of course."

Yes. Of course she knew. That wasn't the point. "Are you okay with that?"

"Lots of women don't get married these days," she told him, stating this fact pointedly but gently. 

"I'm not talking about other women,” Gen replied in his low voice, less pointedly but just as gently. “You know Hiruma's not going to have kids with you, either."

If Hiruma had been that kind of person, they wouldn’t be having this conversation.

"Well, that's the thing about being an elementary school teacher," she replied with a disarming smile. "I'm going to have so many children to take care of. How would I ever have time for kids of my own?" 

Gen studied her face. She seemed so self-assured. But his gut was still knotted from seeing those eyes that seemed to be drowning in loneliness, despite all the things she professed while smiling.

"Are you really okay with that?" he asked again.

Mamori met his eyes. 

"You think I'm stupid, don't you?" 

It might have been an accusation if her voice hadn’t been heartbreakingly soft. Gen could only look back, unsure of the best way to reply. Stupid was the furthest thing from his mind when he thought about her, but he couldn't even manage to shake his head at the question before she continued. 

“You ask me what I want for the future. Am I supposed to dream about something that doesn’t exist, when I have something right now that tears me up when I imagine losing it?” she asked. She took a breath to steady her voice. “I know him. I know him better than anyone, except maybe you, Musashi, and I know what I can expect. I know it isn’t romantic. But I love him. More than anything. And he loves me, in his way. I know it sounds stupid, but I want to honour what we have, because it's too rare. It’s too important to me. The fact he doesn't think of me as more than a friend doesn't change that.”

There was almost a challenge in her eyes as she spoke, but when Gen met them with his undeterred calm an embarrassed flush rose to her cheeks as she realized that she had been openly confessing something so private. When her phone buzzed she seemed relieved to dig through her purse to check it, breathing a rushed apology. She even went so far as to type a reply, right there at the dinner table. 

Gen pressed his forehead to the steeple he had made with his hands as he leaned his elbows against the table. It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand her feelings. Burning brightly as ever, Hiruma had captured another soul for his collection. Gen knew how captivating the goblin could be. And he knew that she wasn’t wrong about Hiruma’s difficult to detect, but no less profound or genuine love. Still, Gen felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears, repeating over and over that it was a mistake. It was her choice, but she was making a mistake. 

But it was her right to choose it, and none of his business to intervene. 

"Suzuna will be here to pick me up in a minute," she was saying. 

Escorting her to the door was like sleepwalking as the disappointment sank in. If he hadn’t wanted to know the answer he shouldn’t have asked, he tried to remind himself. Whatever he had been imagining would stay imaginary. Now he knew, and that was a good thing: no sense wasting anyone’s time over it. 

He watched as she slipped on her shoes then turned to thank him for the meal. He must have replied, because the next thing he knew he was following her out onto the front step, in the cool dark quiet of night. Gen swallowed hard and tried to bury the thought that echoed in his mind:  _ You’re making a mistake... _

Once he decided something wasn’t his problem, he generally didn’t let it bother him. But he kept feeling like he needed to say something to her before she left. After all the nerves and stress and preparations… after telling her his dream… even if their futures didn’t align… 

“Mamori,” he said, deliberately. He was a little worried that he might be overstepping, suddenly using her given name. She turned and looked back at him, startled and curious but without any trace of offense. Gen focused on her eyes to keep from running away like a coward. With a deep breath of jasmine and vanilla, he finally spoke. 

“I don’t think you’re stupid. I think—” he said, stammering mentally but keeping his voice and expression steady. “It’s you. I love that about you.”

Her face coloured slightly in a pretty blush but her expression was more grateful than embarrassed. Her eyes shone up at him with that intent gleam, half-hidden by the fringe of her hair. He reached out to smooth it back, but stopped with his hand in mid-air at the last moment. Gently pushing her hair from her face would definitely be overstepping. Cradling her face in his hands would definitely be overstepping. His hand hovered near her shoulder. 

“Hiruma might only think of you as a friend but…”

No turning back now. 

“...but that’s not how I think of you.”

“Oh,” she whispered, still looking up at him, a little bewildered. 

He looked back at her, searching for some sign that she had understood what he meant. 

And then her eyes grew wide, as the realization struck. “Oh...!”

A car engine slowed to a stop just outside the gate and a honk announced that her ride had arrived. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiruma is a bit cagey. Meanwhile, Mamori has been working hard for the Babels.

### SUNDAY -- Hiruma’s place 

Mamori was curled up in the big fluffy armchair by the window, absorbed in her Margaret Atwood novel. 

When Hiruma burst through the door, kicking the chair out of the way and throwing his keys on the floor halfway across the room, she looked up, watching with tempered concern as he shrugged his duffel bag off while still typing furiously into his phone. He crossed the room in long strides then grabbed his smaller bag from the counter.

Once he had visibly clicked SEND, he finally noticed her on the other side of the room. His eyes narrowed. She was wrapped up in a blanket, her book still open in her hands. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. 

Hiruma’s face was the foulest of scowls. “Don’t you work on Sundays?” 

“I swapped for an afternoon shift this week,” she replied. “Since the Babels don’t have afternoon practices.”

“Tch!” was all he said. 

Then in a huff he fished out another phone and started texting again with a phone in each hand.

With a smile and a sigh, Mamori turned back to her reading. 

When he had finished, Hiruma tossed the cellphones back into his bag and pulled out his laptop. Then he climbed into the chair and proceeded to wedge himself in beside Mamori. 

“What the hell, fuckin’ manager! What’re ya doin’, tryin’a get so fat you can hog the whole seat to yourself?!” he snarled as he leaned across her to snatch a handful of pretzel sticks from the package on the tiny table beside the chair. The apartment had come fully furnished, which had been Hiruma’s decision when Mamori had convinced him to relocate to a unit with an actual kitchen, and it included such frivolous yet remarkably convenient items as side tables. 

“Don’t ruin your dinner!” Mamori protested his blatant act of theft, but under her frown she still blushed at his shameless fat-shaming. Hiruma always teased her about her snacking, but she was quite conscious that she had put on weight without his commentary. 

Hiruma shoved the sticks in his mouth and wiped his hand on her shoulder, but notably he didn’t laugh. He opened up his laptop and wiggled a bit more until he was sitting cross-legged in the space between her and the wide arm of the chair, an elbow and knee jabbing into her side awkwardly.

“Oh, were you planning to work at the diner today?” she asked, finally putting the pieces together. She could detect his moods quickly enough, but the cause of them could take longer to puzzle out. Lately he was angry almost every time she saw him. “With Kurita and Musashi?”

Hiruma shrugged. “No point now that  _ someone  _ ruined everything.” 

“Is there some reason you can’t meet there when I’m not working?” Mamori asked. Of course they benefited from her employee discount but Hiruma had always proven to be resourceful about these kinds of things.

“Tch. You’d better take advantage of these ‘afternoon shifts’ while you can,” he grumbled. “You’ll be back at afternoon practices soon.” 

Mamori sighed. “So you’ve figured out how to get Agon to apologize, have you? I’m impressed.” 

Hiruma had been making everyone on the team miserable for weeks, from the freshmen to the seniors, linebackers to the support team. Some of them, especially the other managers, kept begging her to come back, but as sympathetic as she was to their suffering, she refused to return without an apology. And three-and-a-half years of enduring Kongo Agon made her certain he could not be compelled to do so. 

“Don’t doubt my abilities, woman.” Hiruma seemed to glare more intently at his computer than ever. “Just get ready.” 

“Hiruma, you need to leave the rest of the team alone. People will start quitting, and where will that leave you?” 

“Weedin’ out some slackers can’t hurt. Otherwise, what’s the point of having 200 people on the damn team?”

“It’s putting me in a difficult position,” she insisted.

“Oh?” Hiruma gave her a look from the corner of his eye. “So come back already.” 

Mamori only sighed in response. Since she had quit, they had been spending considerably less time together. The Babels practices were in the evening so she had mostly been leaving him meals without eating with him. Meanwhile, the primary school for her work placement was in a different district, so she wasn’t even on campus during the day most of the week. It was nice to just sit together a bit. 

“How’re the fuckin’ pinnochios doing?” he asked, pulling out a stick of gum. The nickname was his idea of a derogatory woodworking reference, even if it made almost no sense. 

“You mean you haven’t been spying on us?” Mamori raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.

Hiruma didn’t so much as blink. “You’re the spy. So what’s the report?” 

“Don’t worry about the Babels,” Mamori smiled. “Just focus on beating Enma and the others...”

“Why should I worry?” he grumbled as he blew a bubblegum bubble. “If they manage to lose with my goddamn manager there won’t be enough mops on the planet to clean up the slaughter.”

“Hiruma!” Mamori exclaimed at the gory image he had conjured. 

“Fine. Keep your secrets,” Hiruma replied. There was a little pleased glint in his eyes, still focused on his computer screen. For the first time that afternoon, he didn’t seem to be seething with anger. 

Watching him flash between windows as he multitasked at his usual dizzying speed, Mamori sighed. She adjusted her weight against him so her shoulder jabbed into his arm a little more comfortably, then turned back to her book.  


### MONDAY -- Babels Practice 

Monday evening Gen arrived at the municipal grounds to find Mamori at the bleachers, leaning over a stack of folded jerseys and checking her clipboard… surrounded by a group of unfamiliar men. They were laughing and chatting loudly, and it was  _ not  _ in Japanese. 

So, it seemed like she had made good on the new members in the end. He counted five, which would have been impressive at such short notice even if he hadn’t started with such low expectations to begin with. Where the hell had she found them? How the hell had she convinced them to join? Gen did his best to keep his eyebrows from arching much higher than usual (with eyebrows like his, they were dead giveaways and the most important thing to control) and headed toward the group. 

Mamori caught his eye as he approached and her body seemed to stiffen. That wasn’t great, but it also wasn’t really surprising, considering his brilliant little confession. At least she hadn’t quit. If she was sticking with the Babels still, he was confident they would both pretend things were normal until they forgot why they were pretending, and life would go on. In the meantime, he was prepared for some awkward moments. 

“Everyone, this is the team owner, Mu… ah, Mister Takekura,” she stumbled over the simple introduction. “Takekura Gen. He’s also our main kicker.” 

The foreigners straightened and faced him, some with clumsy bows but a few others more practiced. “Nice to meet you!” they chorused in Japanese. 

“Just call me Musashi,” he told them. It was just simpler that way. 

“These are the new members of the Takekura Construction Babels,” Mamori said to him. Then she slowed her Japanese for the benefit of the new recruits. “I think you can all do self introductions, right? I can help if there is anything you need translated.” She repeated in English to be sure they had understood. 

The new members did appear to be well-trained in the self introductions that were customary in Japan, enthusiastically sharing their names, country of origin (four Americans and a Canadian) as well as their favourite foods and hobbies. Unsurprisingly, ‘amefuto’ was the main keyword in the latter category, so most of them added their position and alumnus as well. The variety and experience was respectable. 

“Once you’re changed I’ll introduce you to the coach and the team captain,” Mamori informed them, then repeated herself in their first language out of courtesy. 

Gen stood beside Mamori as they watched the foreigners jog off to the change rooms. Routine tasks like setting up the equipment and distributing water she had delegated to the kids of some of the guys. The kids had always tried to help out, and Gen was happy to have them around, but even the older ones had required constant supervision, otherwise something was certain to be messed up or forgotten. Tamahachi’s kid wasn’t even six years old yet, but was just as eager to be considered part of the team as the older ones. Now they ran around busily, preparing everything for the practice under Mamori’s watchful eye, reporting back to her cheerfully when their tasks were completed. She would thank them with a smile and make a note on her clipboard, which led Gen to suspect she had arranged the tasks as some kind of competition or game. He smiled, wondering about her scheme. Whatever it was, the kids seemed to be enjoying it; Gen could only admire her effectiveness and savour the relief of having one less thing to think about. 

With a rather professional gesture, Mamori handed Gen the benchmarks of the new members. He looked them over, letting out a sigh that faded into an impressed whistle. 

“You know I can’t afford to give you a raise, right…?”

She smiled at that. “I told you you were going to be happy.”

“I’m not denying that at all.” Gen shook his head, still a bit overwhelmed. “I would’ve been happy with one guy in decent health who knew even half the rules… but guys with years of experience in American college football? Who are willing to play on some little private team, unpaid?”

“They’re here through a program to teach English abroad, so they have a salary from that already,” she explained, looking pleased. “I know someone from my work placement who is here on the same exchange program, and she agreed to share the recruitment info through their social media groups. Turns out American football is pretty popular in America, and after living and breathing football for years… perhaps like some people you know… and maybe feeling a little homesick…”

“...Some of them thought they might continue their old pastime?” he guessed. 

“They said it’d be a good way to meet locals outside of work, too. It’s a bit of a cultural exchange, apparently.” Noting Gen’s troubled look, she added: “They just arrived in August, if you’re wondering why none of them showed up for your spring tryouts…”

“Ah.” It made sense, but it still felt too good to be true. But even if half of them dropped out, it was still great news.

“For the game on Friday, we should probably keep them in reserve. It’s not much time to get them integrated with the rest of the team, plus some of them can’t speak much Japanese. I think it shouldn’t be a big issue, since half the terms are English anyway and Kid’s English is fairly strong. But there’s no need to rush. They’re officially on the roster now, so whenever the moment is right, we have the option.” 

Gen nodded. The rest of the team had been gradually filing into the locker rooms, and he should probably get changed, too. “Thanks, Mamori. A lot. I appreciate it.” 

She glanced at him a bit anxiously when he said her name. Back to Anezaki, then. He could do that. Anezaki frowned at her watch, then checked her phone. 

“What’s up?” Gen asked, not sure if he should be curious or worried.

“He’s late…”

Only then did Gen notice there was still one jersey left on the bleacher beside her. She was scanning the field and the road to the parking lot when they heard a cool voice nearby. 

“Anezaki, I apologize. The train was delayed.”

Gen and Anezaki both turned toward the tall man who emerged from the park just beyond the bleachers, in the direction of the nearest train station. His straight black hair framed his face, making his narrow eyes seem almost severe. 

“Kakei, thanks for coming.”

Kakei Shun nodded to her, then did the same to acknowledge Gen. “Takekura Musashi, it has been a while.”

Gen nodded almost imperceptibly but internally his mind was gaping. Wasn’t Kakei playing at a college in America? He stole a glance at Anezaki. She was smiling brightly, but took a deep preparatory breath nonetheless. 

“Musashi, I’m pleased to introduce you to Takekura Construction’s new accounts manager.” 

Gen blinked. 

“I look forward to putting my skills in service of Takekura, both on and off the field,” Kakei declared with all the necessary propriety. 

“I didn’t realize you were back in Japan,” Gen replied with a frown that he hoped only made him look puzzled. He would wait to address his more pronounced concerns in private.

Kakei was frowning too, but whether it was simply his default expression (what Suzuna had once called ‘resting frowny face’) was unclear. “Indeed… It had been my hope to remain in America after graduating, but unfortunately I did not make the NFL draft this year. Until recently I had been unsure about whether to return to Kantô. But here I am.” 

He looked at Anezaki at this last comment. She smiled and lowered her head graciously. “We’re happy to have you with us.”

The large duffel bag he was carrying suggested he had brought his own gear. Mamori presented him with the uniform. After he had left them, Gen turned to her. It was difficult to hide his annoyance. 

“Were you going to tell me?” 

Anezaki tilted her head slightly in confusion. “I am telling you now.” 

“It’s a little late!” he grumbled. 

“You said you just wanted to know before the rest of the team,” she reminded him. “No one else knows, except Koyama-sensei. Kid doesn’t even know yet, and he’s the actual captain. But he’s going to be happy, too.”

“I said that about the team,” he sighed. “Not about the company!”

“You needed a new bookkeeper and receptionist. I stayed within the budget and you got an excellent player.” 

“You can’t just hire people for my company without asking.” Gen was starting to feel exasperated. He couldn’t believe she would presume so much and act like nothing was wrong. 

She frowned at him. “I didn’t hire him.”

“Then why am I only finding out about this now?”

“You delegated the job recruitment to the part-timer who’s leaving, didn’t you? That’s what Naomi told me.” 

Gen paused. It was true, he had asked the part-timer to interview for her replacement, once it had become apparent his mother would not be returning before the receptionist went back to school. But the vetted candidate was supposed to be hired by one of the company owners… Suddenly he remembered the call he had missed from his mother earlier that day. He hadn’t had a chance to call her back. Weeks ago she had offered to take care of the hiring remotely, since it had been her job before she left. Gen sighed and covered his eyes with his palm. Had she not brought it up earlier to spare him from having another thing to think about? Or was really he losing track of things so badly? He thought he would remember something like this.

“Kakei just graduated from a business administration degree,” Anezaki was saying. “He was by far the best candidate for this position and, quite frankly, he deserves a better salary and more hours than Takekura is offering him. Luckily for you, promising that he would be on the X-league championship team this year was enough incentive for him to accept the job offer.”

As she defended her decision, Gen let the tension ease from his muscles. Five experienced foreign players and a former Kyôshin Poseidons linebacker, just in time for the season opener. He could kiss her. Instead, he shook his head, bemused. 

They might just have a shot at this thing. 

“Sorry,” he apologized in a low voice, sincere and grateful. “I was being a jackass. You are incredible. We don’t deserve you.”

Her frown softened a little at that. “You can thank me by winning the championship. I wouldn’t want Kakei to think I’m a liar…”

Gen smiled. 

“If we don’t win, then what’s the point?” He delivered the line without a hint of irony, but glanced at her to make sure she understood the joke. “Right?”

She returned his smile with a nod, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Well, if we don’t, we’ll probably be murdered...”

They shared their usual reserved chuckle over the unreasonable violence of the man they both loved, as if nothing had changed. Mamori’s smile shone and her eyes sparkled and she smelled just like the stars coming out at twilight. 

_ This could be fine,  _ Gen thought.  _ Isn’t this fine?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to anyone who has done the JET program lol. If you are reading, please comment with your prefecture and what your extra-curricular activities were!
> 
> I'll admit most of my knowledge of Japan comes from the year I was there on JET, but I was in Okayama and almost never went to Tokyo so I'm sure I'm not depicting the city very well. Also I've been told it's rare for JET placements to be in cities, but I had some friends teaching in Osaka so I'm sure that's not a strict rule. Certainly there must be a bunch of American ALTs in Kanagawa! 
> 
> (Lol listen to me trying to justify why these new players are realistic! I hope it's believable!)
> 
> Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agon is the paragon of trash, but will Mamori triumph?

### MORNING - SaikyôDai Wizards headquarters

Mamori’s keychain contained a Rocketbear plushie (from Sena), a Rocketbear strap charm (from Monta), a mini LED flashlight (from her mother), a travel-sized bottle of pepper spray (from a self-defence workshop), and four keys: one for the Anezaki residence, one to Hiruma’s apartment, one for the equipment storage lockers of the north-central Kanagawa municipal athletics centre, and one for the SaikyôDai Wizards headquarters. 

In principle, she should have returned this last one, even if the idea made her a little sad. It would send a message about her resolve to quit, despite Hiruma’s insistence otherwise. 

But keeping it was also rather convenient. It allowed her to drop off Hiruma’s lunch at his locker before anyone else from the team was there to see. Not that she was hiding it, but she knew that Hiruma preferred to be seen as fully autonomous and would rather keep such details shrouded in mystery.

And besides that, she liked secret kindnesses. They were the best way to convey pure feelings. She had perhaps known this long before she met Hiruma, but through watching him she had come to appreciate this simple truth more profoundly. How every caring thing he did was masked by an insult or unnecessarily violence… watching him hide his thoughtful and sometimes elaborate gestures to his friends made her heart sore with affection. 

Arriving an hour before morning practice, Mamori rarely saw anyone else, other than Hiruma himself on those occasions when he was hatching some scheme. But that morning there was no cackling laughter spilling from the headquarters. The weight of the bento hidden in her bag was enough to make a contented smile bloom on her face as she slipped the key in the lock of the entry door and it slid open without the slightest resistance. The morning light filtered through the windows as she crossed the main room. In the changeroom the windows were near the ceiling, too high for passers-by to peek in, and this early in the day the indirect light was still a bit dim. But she knew the way perfectly and felt no need to flick the lights on.

As she entered, a muscular arm slipped around her and a hand caught her waist. 

“Heeey, it isn’t nice to keep me waiting so early...”

Panicked, Mamori struggled against the strong grasp, frantically disentangling the pepper spray from the rest of the keychain still in her hand as she tried to break free. In a moment she was pointing the bottle in the direction of her assailant and pressing the button on the cap, praying the spray would hit her target, or at least frighten him off.

Immediately she heard a deep scream, but was knocked over in the same instant by a powerful swipe of the arm she had been trying to escape from, falling painfully to the ground. She looked up to see a brawny man in front of her, scratching his eyes as if they were burning. Her voice caught in her throat out of anger. 

“Agon!?” 

“Wa— ah— water!!” he shrieked between anguished gasps. 

No matter how furious she felt, seeing him in such raw pain was hard to watch. His trusty sunglasses had provided no protection against the spray, tucked on top of his head as they usually were when he was in seduction mode. With a resigned sigh Mamori pushed herself up and returned to the common room. After a moment she reappeared with a container of milk. 

“Water will just make it worse,” she informed him, although she wasn’t sure he could even see what she was holding. If it had been a true emergency, or anyone else in the world for that matter, she wouldn’t hesitate to pour milk all over the locker room floor. But, considering the situation, Mamori had no problem letting Agon endure the pain for a few more moments as she guided him by the elbow the short distance to the sink to avoid having a mess to clean up afterward. 

After washing the eyes and nose of the whimpering beast, first with milk to neutralize the pepper oils, then with water to clean away the milk, Mamori passed him a towel and prepared herself for the rage. 

“What the hell!?! Psycho bitch!!” Agon covered his puffy red eyes with his sunglasses. “What the hell are you doing here??”

“That is none of your business,” she replied. She made no effort to hide her complete disdain for him. “What are you doing, assaulting women at this hour? It seems out of character for you to be up so early.”

“I was meeting someone. Someone worth waking up for,” he added with a scoff, clicking on his phone, then holding it up to show her. “Not a frigid bitch, like some people.”

Mamori looked down her nose at the screen. His chat history showed a flirty selfie of a young woman she recognised, wearing a Wizards’ cheerleading outfit. With a frown, Mamori glanced at the phone number. 

“Looks like you were set up,” she replied. 

“Euh?” Agon sneered at her. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, princess.”

Mamori returned to her bag which she had abandoned on the floor during the struggle. She checked inside to see if there had been any damage to the bento. It seemed fine, but she would need to unwrap the box to see if it had been cracked. Presumably the contents would be edible at least. She sighed. “It’s one of Hiruma’s burner phones.”

“Heh, nice try. This one’s been teasing me for two weeks. Shy at practice, but I’ve been working on her.”

“It’s probably a blackmail photo, too.” 

This was not what Agon wanted to hear. The disinterest in her voice forced him to fit the pieces together, and he knew too well what it meant. “That bullshit piece of trash…!“ 

Mamori placed the bento on the bench and untied the knot at the top of the fabric. Hiruma might be the most cunning person she knew, but she failed to see how this scheme was supposed to work out. And, quite frankly, no matter how much she missed her team, she saw no use in putting any effort into whatever it was he had planned. Agon was a waste of energy. She examined the sides and bottom of the two-level box without speaking. Everything appeared to be intact. 

“What’s your deal, huh?” Agon said. He had finally broken his attention away from sending a barrage of abusive text messages and was watching as she reached up to place the freshly re-wrapped bento on the shelf above Hiruma’s locker. “You up and quit like some kind of diva, but you keep lurking around here when no one’s looking?” 

“Well, this morning was a poignant reminder of why I quit,” she muttered haughtily, sliding her considerably lighter bag over her shoulder and heading for the door. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t break your face,” Agon warned dangerously. “I could’ve killed you.”

“If you hadn’t been crying like a baby,” Mamori reminded him. She felt completely justified in shaming him but found there was little pleasure in it. “Akemi-chan might have had the same reaction I did, you know, if someone grabbed her out of nowhere. Would you have killed her, too?”

Agon groaned at her lecture. “Just come back already.” 

Mamori had crossed the room but paused in mid-step through the doorway. The tired look in her eyes dared him to repeat what he had said.

“Your boyfriend’s been an insufferable bastard since you left. You’re making everyone suffer.” 

“Oh no, that honour is yours,” she corrected him. 

“You can make it stop. You’d be a saviour, wouldn’t you love that?” 

Mamori turned to face him squarely. “So, you’re willing to apologise?” 

Agon snorted. “For what?” 

“For all the disrespectful things you said about me _in front of the entire team!_ ” 

“What’d be the point of that?” 

“To end the suffering,” she replied. “By which I assume you mean _your_ suffering. Because I am _not_ coming back until you apologise, and Hiruma will not give up until he gets what he wants.” Even in impossible situations, he never gave up. Mamori could feel the hot tears of gratitude threatening her eyelids. Maybe she could go back after all. Maybe Agon would cave, out of convenience. Maybe she could accept a private apology, as a compromise. “Those are your choices, Agon. It’s your decision.” 

“What, was I supposed to just sit back and let you betray us without saying anything? Someone had to have the balls to call you out on that shit.” 

“I’m not betraying anyone,” she countered him breathlessly. “The Babels won’t be our rivals unless they make it to the Rice Bowl.” 

“And how do they plan on getting there? By beating all those multi-million-dollar teams, with what? With you. With our strategies, our plays, our signs, our _magic_! Screw that.”

Mamori blinked in surprise. It was rare to hear Agon not single-handedly claiming responsibility for the Wizards' successes. But he was still talking nonsense. “Using the same strategies won’t matter, seeing as the players are completely different!”

“They’ll still know our plays and be able to read our codes—”

“—Of course I’m not going to teach them the Wizards hand signals!” she exclaimed. “That would be unfair!” 

“Eh?” he snarled in confusion. 

“I made a new sign language for the Babels,” she replied. 

Agon seemed cautiously skeptical, meaning his face was a huge lip-curl. Mamori sighed and explained: “If we used the same signals, then the Wizards would have an unfair advantage at the Rice Bowl, too.”

“It’s all the same if you’re there to translate,” Agon retorted again. 

“Well…” Her voice was suddenly quiet. “At that point, it wouldn’t be fair if I were on either team.” 

“Ah, you’re seriously such a nut job,” he shrugged with a sneer, sniffing at his shirt as if he could smell milk on it. “Your boyfriend’s gay and so you’re hooking up with his fuck buddy just so they can keep their hard-ons for each other going a little longer… And the rest of us get to suffer for it.” 

Mamori opened her mouth to protest but his arrogance was truly breathtaking. 

"Just come back," he said again, with a finality in his tone that suggested it was not a topic for debate. He stripped off his shirt and tied his dreadlocks in a knot on top of his head. His dragon tattoo almost seemed to crawl over his back as he draped a towel over his shoulders and moved toward the showers. "It's our last year. It's not just the blond trash who's broke up about it. The other manager chicks’re practically in tears most of the time. Plus half the freshmen and even a couple morons in the second string won’t be able to handle it much longer. Quit being so bloody selfish."

"I'll come back when you—"

"—When I apologise? For what? For calling you a slut? No one believes that. _I_ don't even believe that. Anyone who knows you knows you've never gotten laid. You've probably never even been kissed." 

He glanced at her stunned expression, her face burning red as if she was the one who had been pepper sprayed, and he chuckled. 

"Am I right? It's too bad. Maybe if you got some action once in a while you'd be less uptight and then we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place!"

"Agon!" Mamori managed to spit out in protest.

"Why do you care what I said or what people think?" he went on. "No one cares! No one cares about the bullshit I spew. No one cares who you sleep with or don't. But if you’re part of this team or if you quit, that's your choice. I'm not losing sleep over it. If you quit, fine. Your choice. But call off your annoying mutt, or those former teammates you’ve made so many precious memories with are gonna become your enemies real fast. And I'm not taking the blame for that. That’s on you."

Mamori stared at him, so upset she was completely speechless. The tears she had felt before were threatening to make an immediate appearance, but no longer in triumph. 

“If you watch me shower I’m gonna report you for sexual harassment,” Agon smirked as he started to unbutton his pants. “Or you can join me, and I might forgive you, how about that?” 

It was sufficient to bring her to her senses. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry, apparently I just can't not have Agon causing drama / being dramatic. I promise we'll get back to indulging in pure sappy romance asap!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musashi and Mamori face the music, but what is the song?

### SATURDAY - Takekura residence

Meat and potato stew with extra mirin was simmering on the gas stove at the Takekura residence once again that Saturday night. 

For much of the week Mamori had seemed melancholy and distracted. Gen would have interpreted this as a reaction to his confession, except that she had only seemed slightly awkward at that first practice afterwards, something which he had taken as a hopeful sign. It wasn’t until later in the week that her reliable cheerfulness seemed to abandon her. 

He hadn’t thought her mood was related to their fast-approaching first game of the season, either. Unlike the college league, the only teams that she had a history with in the X-league were the two that SaikyôDai had lost to at the Rice Bowl— teams on the other side of the bracket that the Babels thankfully wouldn’t play against until later in the tournament. But even if that had been the reason, he would have expected Mamori to face them with her usual unwavering determination. Gen spent the practices watching her and frowning. He couldn’t explain it. He wondered if something had happened.

In the meantime, Suzuna had insisted that his work was not finished. 

“She _knows_ now. We definitely know that she knows that you like her.” 

Gen had thought that this fact was a pretty clear indication that whatever hope he might have had was finally put to rest. But Suzuna disagreed. 

“Now she needs time to process. It’s going to change things for her, and she’ll need time to figure that out,” the cheerleader assured him. “But you need to let her know you don’t hold it against her that she didn’t fall into your arms right away.”

Gen frowned. “I _don’t_ hold that against her...” 

“Exactly! We can’t let her think that she closed the door on your heart!” Suzuna had tried to explain, although it was hard to understand her line of thinking. 

“What are you saying?” Gen asked.

“I’m saying: invite her for dinner again!” 

While he couldn’t really argue, he could delay. It wasn’t until Friday night, in that thrill of confidence after the Babels had won their first match, that he felt bold enough to ask again. The fact that she accepted the invitation was still a surprise to him, considering how awkwardly she had received it. He had almost expected she would change her mind at the last moment. 

But there she was, seated at his dining room table once again, with her back straight and her hands folded together tightly on her lap. Mamori hadn’t said much other than hello since she tiptoed down the hall after she first arrived. She finally tore her gaze from the tabletop to look at him. 

“Are we dating?” 

Upfront. Direct. A soft breath of relief escaped his chest. This, he could deal with.

“That’s up to you,” Gen told her, setting a full cup of tea down in front of her. He paused a moment to weigh his words. With Hiruma he could be as blunt as he wanted without the slightest risk of hard feelings, but with Mamori it was more difficult to know what was going too far. Still, he thought she was the kind of woman who appreciated the truth. “I’m pursuing you. You can tell me to stop whenever you want. But I’d appreciate if you considered it, at least.” 

Mamori’s eyes were wide, but not much wider than they had been since she arrived. She sipped her tea for what felt like an eternity without speaking, staring at him with a look that was difficult to read. 

Gen felt he had been subject to an above-average number of such stares that day. That morning, for example, after prying himself from Hiruma’s sleepy clutches to get dressed, Gen had told his pointy-eared friend to find somewhere else to be that evening. 

“Kehkehkeh!! Still wasting your time with that dating bullshit, old man?” Hiruma had cackled, his eyes still half-shut as he appropriated the rest of the blankets for himself. 

Gen picked the last undershirt from what had once been the clean pile. “Just because you don’t approve doesn’t make it a waste of time,” he replied, although with the luck he had with his blind dates so far, part of himself was inclined to agree. 

“Keh! Even if you find some woman willing to pop out a couple runts for you, what're the chances your little wife’s gonna put up with sharing you?” Hiruma grinned wickedly, stretching back into the pillows. “You know I ain’t just gonna give you up cuz you wanna play house.”

Gen turned his gaze on the lanky young man in his bed, keeping his own expression stoney-still. There was a heaviness that weighed on him, knowing one day he would have to keep the closest person in his life at a distance. He didn’t like to think about it, but nothing could last forever, even if Hiruma did not seem to agree. The only other alternative he could see was a life of secrets. 

Hiruma had always been vocal about his opposition to Gen’s decision to attempt dating, which had somehow never really felt like blatant hypocrisy despite the number of lovers Hiruma kept in rotation himself. But as far as Gen could tell, Hiruma had never actively tried to sabotage any of his dates. None of those relationships had gone very far anyway, so maybe he had been spared the trouble. Gen wondered if he would regret telling him... but this was Hiruma. He would find out sooner or later. 

“It’s Anezaki,” Gen said. 

Hiruma didn’t reply. He just stared back. His eyes neither widened nor narrowed nor blinked, but flashed once over Gen’s face before meeting his steady gaze. It was next to impossible to interpret his response. And the silence stretched on and on. Was it in disbelief or a calculating anger, or maybe a combination of both? Normally Hiruma was so easy to read. 

Gen had tried to decode the silent stare, but shortly had to break away to finish dressing so he could eat and water the plants before the Saturday morning shift. As he turned away, Hiruma had started cackling wildly, claiming he already had plans. Gen wasn’t sure if that really meant he could expect privacy that evening. He only hoped he wouldn’t regret being so upfront with such a meddlesome friend. 

Now it was Mamori who was staring at him without speaking, not betraying any hint of what she was thinking. But she was there, sitting in front of him, and no one was forcing her to be there. Her awkwardness was cute and her bangs were in her eyes, and Gen was nervous but he thought there were worse ways to be spending his Saturday evening. He liked her and he didn’t mind silence. He picked up the pot and refilled her tea. 

When they had both reached the bottom of their cups, Gen suggested they eat. Mamori nodded without a word. He served the meal and they ate in silence for a few minutes. 

“I hope it meets your expectations,” Gen said after a while. He had invited her over by reminding her that he had promised to make his secret recipe for her again. That little gag was proving to be a rather useful icebreaker. He almost wanted to congratulate his past self for the idea. 

Mamori nodded again slowly. She looked at the half-eaten bowl of stew in front of her and then back at him, and it was clear she was trying to decide what to say. 

“Why?” she asked finally. “I mean, I apologise for— well, how do I say…? Maybe I shouldn’t have come. But I had to know why... why would you say those kinds of things? What— Why me?”

Gen let her fragments of questions wash over him. There were so many ways to answer them that he couldn’t bring himself to say, not to her. There were some things that seemed too cliché to waste breath on, some things that were just too self-centred to admit, and some things that were too personal and too embarrassing to risk sharing. Suzuna would tell him he should extoll her virtues— her beauty and talents and other qualities— but he was certain Mamori would not respond well to flattery.

“Because… I trust you,” he replied. “I’ve been looking all over, wondering what’s wrong with me, like I’d forgotten how hard that is to find or to even start building. Then it was like I opened my eyes and suddenly you were there.”

"Oh…" she whispered, studying his earnest face. After a moment she reminded him, with a touch of confusion: “I’ve always been here.” 

Under the table, Gen stretched open the fist he had formed out of nerves and stared at his palm with its fresh scar. “Yeah. Exactly. I feel like I know you so well, like we don’t even need to talk half the time… but we don’t really know each other at all. I don’t want to take you for granted anymore. I don’t want us to be strangers.”

Mamori stared at him with her intent blue eyes shining, slightly apprehensive but tender with emotion. 

“Musashi, you know that I...” she began cautiously after a moment, trailing off as if she were reluctant to hurt him. 

“You’re in love with someone else,” Gen finished for her. “Yeah, I know. I don’t really see that as a problem.”

“How is it not a problem?” she asked in disbelief.

“I’m not asking to replace Hiruma,” he said. “I’m not asking you to do something impossible, like love him any less.”

“Then what… what are you asking?”

“To give me a chance,” he shrugged, but part way through the gesture he realized it might make her doubt his sincerity. He tried to speak that sincerity instead, but it all came out wrong. “I want to support you. To stand beside you and be a comfort to you. And even though I know I can do all those things as your friend… despite that, for some reason... I’d still like to be someone special to you.” 

She was staring at him again, but this time as if she was examining something she had never seen before. Gen tried to welcome that stare, breathing in slowly and filling his lungs with her attention. He could only be himself. She knew who he was, and she wasn’t going to find any surprises. After a few more long moments she appeared to relax slightly, although still not completely at ease. 

“You’ve been trying to tell me this since before I joined the team, haven’t you?”

Gen only let a fraction of the wide grin he felt at this realization show on his face. “Well, I didn’t exactly want to hit you over the head with the idea either.”

“You were trying to tell me something important to you and I just ignored you,” she whispered in dismay. “I’m sorry... I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not,” he said, trying to shut down the idea with his words. “You’re perfect.”

She looked up, startled at the command in his voice. No matter how much he loved her shining eyes, he didn’t like the glitter that was building along the edge of her eyelashes. It seemed as if she might dissolve into tears any moment. What the hell was he doing?

“And you love sweet things, so finish your dinner before it gets cold,” he scolded her in an attempt to distract her. He picked up his own chopsticks and took a bite of the stew, now barely warmer than room temperature. “Um… I can heat it up if you want.”

He must have made a face, because Mamori laughed and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “It’s fine. Thank you, though...”

They finished eating without speaking. Gen didn’t know what to make of her response. She hadn’t said no, but she hadn’t expressed interest either. So it wasn’t hopeless, but that was about it. There was only one thing he was really worried about, however.

“Hey so… I know this maybe makes things weird between us,” he said as he finished and put his chopsticks down. “I understand if you don’t want to stay on with the Babels. But… it has been amazing to have you with us. I can just keep out of your way, if you want, and you can deal with Kid and Koyama instead. If you think you'll stick with us, I mean.”

Mamori looked at him thoughtfully but didn’t speak for a moment. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, and the long silence made him uneasy enough to stand and clear the table.

“That’s very considerate of you,” she said softly as he took her bowl.

Gen nodded in reply. He wasn’t sure how to interpret her words, but he was fairly confident she wasn’t going to quit as manager, and that was enough. They could work out the rest later. 

“I hope you have room for dessert,” he said. 

Her face brightened. That was better. Gen left the empty bowls on the counter beside the sink with all the other dirty dishes from the meal prep and cooking.

“You want coffee with it?” 

“I shouldn’t, this late.”

He poured a coffee for himself from the pot he had already prepared. Then he opened the fridge and took out a single slice of chocolate caramel truffle cake. He removed the cover and grabbed the smallest fork he could find. Mamori looked on in anticipation as he crossed the kitchen and returned to the dining table.

“Suzuna says I don’t have a chance with you because I didn’t give you dessert last time,” he noted as he carefully placed the cake in front of Mamori.

“Suzuna!?!” Mamori exclaimed. 

“Yeah,” Gen smirked, still standing. Suzuna had no shortage of critiques regarding his efforts, but she was starting to grow on him due to her unwavering support despite all his failings. “She also says I didn’t make myself vulnerable enough to keep your attention, so here you go.” He pushed the sliding door between the kitchen and the main room completely open so she could see the disaster he had left after cooking instead of carefully closing it as he had the last time she was over. 

Mamori looked bewildered, but he soon realized it was not entirely about the mess in the kitchen. 

“Suzuna knows!? Who else knows!?” 

_Cuute._ “Well, you know how it is with her, it’s like she’s got some kind of radar for this stuff. But you’ve been playing your part as manager pretty convincingly. I don’t think anyone else suspects.”

He had meant the manager part as a joke, but his voice could come off as too serious sometimes. Maybe that was why Mamori seemed so troubled by the topic. She had picked up the fork but still hadn’t taken a bite. 

“Is it good?” he asked, mostly to get her mind off whatever it was that was bothering her. It worked well enough. She took a bite of cake and the worry melted from her face. 

“Yes,” she breathed, almost romantically. “Did you make it?”

“Heh, no.” Gen wanted to burst out laughing, but instead only smiled. “Sorry if I’ve misled you to think I’m some kind of master chef or something. I really only know, like, three recipes and none of them are desserts. Kurita helped me pick this out, so if it isn’t good I’d appreciate it if you blamed him.”

He returned to the kitchen, his coffee forgotten, and started running water in the sink for the dishes, mostly to keep his hands busy. 

“Kurita is so sweet,” Mamori said as if she were talking to the cake. Then she looked up at Gen. “But your cooking is very good, really.”

“Glad you liked it,” he replied over his shoulder as he started washing the glassware. “I can send some home with you, if you want. Hiruma normally has a couple servings, but with it so sweet now he won’t touch the stuff.”

“What?!” Mamori exclaimed, setting her fork down suddenly. 

“I mean, it’s a big batch so there’ll be enough leftovers for a couple days of lunches,” he explained. “Since you like it so much, you’re welcome to have some.” 

“You cook for Hiruma?” she said in astonishment. “You cook dinner for Hiruma?”

Her disbelief was beyond adorable. 

“Yeah. He… didn’t mention that, I’m guessing?”

“Of course!” She stood suddenly, slamming her hands against the table as she did. “Of course you do! Hiruma! Oh, of course you cook dinner for Hiruma!”

Gen smiled at her reaction. “I mean, it’s only really been since my mom went—” 

But the next thing he knew she had swooped into the kitchen and flung her arms around his neck. He could almost feel the relief she exhaled as she pressed her cheek against his back. She must have been stretching a little to reach over his shoulders with the difference in their heights. It was not what he had expected.

His hands were still in the soapy water, but he lifted his elbow and made some space for her to move around in front of him where he could see her properly. Almost too late he realized that this was not the greatest plan: her body brushing against his had aroused him and if she were in front of him, between him and the counter, it would be impossible to keep her from noticing. 

He swiftly dried his hands and hoisted her up so she was sitting on the edge of the counter at the junction of the two sinks. The counter was just above waist height, so it took care of his immediate concerns, but now not only was she leaning against his chest with her arms around his neck, but her knees were straddling his hips. He felt a little faint.

 _Well, that escalated quickly…_ he thought, trying to focus on washing the cutlery. At least with her head tucked under his chin she couldn’t see the flush that had rushed through him, making his face burn. He washed the bowls, pan and cutting board without really noticing anything except her breath against his throat at the opening of his shirt collar. When he inhaled he realized the clean smell of evening jasmine that he associated with her must be her shampoo. But there was something in the combination of scents that could not simply be manufactured and sold in a bottle. He didn't have the words to describe it. Vanilla and jasmine and… something else. Something like this incomparable woman leaning against him, filling his lungs.

“I really am such an idiot,” he heard her whisper after a long time. 

“We talked about that already,” he reminded her, just as softly. 

She pulled back from him so she could look into his face, which he prayed had cooled somewhat. He reached out for the tea towel and dried his hands. With his dried fingers he pushed her bangs back from her eyes so he could see them properly.

“Hey,” he said, not knowing what to say. 

“Hi,” she replied with a cautious smile. 

“We’ve got a lot in common, huh?” 

As she nodded in agreement, her bangs fell into their usual place and he brushed them back again.

“We make a good team, too,” he said. 

She nodded again. He could see there was a question she was trying to form, so he let his hands fall around her waist and waited.

“Have you… ever been on a date before this?” she asked after a moment. 

It was his turn to nod. He didn’t really want to go into that. But she wasn’t finished.

“Have you ever kissed someone?” 

He had done more than kissed, in fact, but she didn’t need to know that. She also didn’t need to know that the only person he had kissed was the one she had confessed to having dedicated her heart to, not any of the dates he had been set up on through the matchmaker service. Such thoughts were only echoes in the background, however, compared with the concern that he felt at the question itself. She had almost finished college. Had she really never been kissed? 

He drew his thumb across her bottom lip, letting it linger there a moment before slipping down to touch her chin as he considered the thousand contradictions of their present situation.

“Kissing is really nice,” he told her. 

Against his better judgment, he leaned in, but to his relief he managed to stop before they touched. He would never forgive himself if he had stolen her first kiss. In the next breath she moved her face across that sliver of space between them and their lips connected. Then he forgot everything else, all his reservations about overstepping or holding her too close. 

Kissing her was so different from kissing Hiruma. Hiruma was aggressive and greedy, and needed to be mastered. She was soft, welcoming and sweet. Her fingers touched his face, drawing him in as if he was the only thing in the universe. Each time he thought it was about to fade to an end, somehow there was another brush of lips or breath against skin that revived it again. Gen couldn’t tell if it was her mouth opening to his or his to hers. Sweet and electric. Wide awake, deep in a breathtaking dream.

Holding her as if to keep her from falling into the dishwater was more exciting than it perhaps should have been, but it might be nice to relocate to somewhere more comfortable than balanced on the edge of the sink. 

“Um… I’m pretty much done the dishes,” he told her, in a low voice to keep them from waking from the enchantment. 

Mamori seemed to understand his meaning and held onto his shoulders as he helped her slip down from the counter. As her toes touched the floor, he kissed her softly again. 

“There is… the couch?” he suggested, trying to ban certain other potential locations from his thoughts. The couch was a bit old and not stylish, but it was clean and comfortable enough— and not _too_ comfortable, which was a quality in its favour at this point.

But then Mamori let her hands drop, her eyes growing wide. 

“I think I need to go,” she whispered. 

“Okay,” he replied cautiously, alarmed at the distress he detected in her face. 

She brushed past him and hurried to retrieve her bag from the back of her chair in a bit of a daze. Her shoulders were visibly rising and falling with her panicked breathing. Some deep part of him echoed it, but he contained his own flash of fear within all the calm he could muster.

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry,” she managed to reply, but she didn’t look at him. 

“I’ll pack you some stew,” he said, hoping such a mundane activity would give her a chance to breathe and perhaps calm down enough to talk, but Mamori had already turned toward the hall and was moving to leave.

“Mamori…” Gen followed after her. When she didn’t hesitate in her flight he reached out and caught her arm. He instantly regretted the gesture— his own internal panic was clearly not as under control as he had hoped. But when she turned back she didn’t slap him, as he arguably deserved. Instead she looked at him with a strained, but slightly defiant expression. 

“If it’s something I did, you have to tell me,” he told her, in a tone that was more stern than he had intended.

“It was wrong... I shouldn’t have…” she managed to gulp out between breaths. “I took advantage of you...”

 _Oh god, is she trying to make me more helplessly in love with her?_ he wondered, shaking his head. “You are more than welcome to take advantage of me.”

“But you—”

“—will be fine,” he finished. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

That there was something else the matter was just a guess, but it seemed like the only explanation for why she had tried to run instead of simply apologizing, as would be much more typical of her. Mamori looked back at him, clearly torn about what to do. When she finally replied, he was surprised to hear more than a hint of anger in her voice. “Do you know why I quit the Wizards?” 

Gen blinked, stunned at the direction the conversation had turned. 

“I’ve heard some stories,” he admitted. He had eventually learned the details that Unsui had tried to shield him from initially. A few rumours had continued to circulate and become common knowledge, although he hadn’t really put much stock in their accuracy. But earlier that very week he had gained some clarity from a more reliable source. 

“You know what Agon said about me. In front of everyone.”

This was starting to make a bit more sense. “Something about the unsavoury methods the Babels must have used to win you over.”

“I swore I wouldn’t go back until he apologized. Even though I knew he never would,” she declared, clearly holding back tears. “Even though this is our last chance to win the Rice Bowl.”

It hurt to watch without pulling her into his arms, but Gen resisted. “That’s giving one guy a lot of power…” he said carefully. 

“I know I shouldn’t care what he thinks. And I don’t. I don’t care what Kongo Agon thinks of me. But he said all that, in front of everyone, and no one said anything.” She drew a deep breath that almost cracked in a sob. She managed to compose herself enough to stare back at him without breaking, but the hurt was raw in her voice. “No one said anything.”

“I’m sure that doesn't mean they approved of it.” Not giving Agon more attention than he deserved was a common way of dealing with his outbursts, he knew.

"None of them would let someone say something like that about one of the players," she replied immediately. "You know they wouldn't. They would be climbing over each other to defend their friends— and even their rivals! But if it's me, I'm supposed to just get over it. But I can't. I won't."

Her anger had held back the tears, but they had still been building up behind her eyes. As she reached the conclusion her defenses broke down again. Tears crept down her cheeks and each breath became a gasp. She shook her head, exasperated with herself and with the situation. “So I— and now— and now you, and— the— the only thing worse than him saying those things _is for him to be right_! I quit over this! It would be betraying everyone! And Hiruma— he’s— but I can’t— I can’t go back—”

Watching her face slowly streak with tears Gen thought his heart might crumble. But he still didn’t dare hold her. If she ran from him again, he didn't think he would be able to recover. 

On the table the remains of the cake shone like a glimmer of hope. There were benefits to chocolate in situations like this, such as triggering the release of endorphins and serotonin. It might help. 

He reached for her chair and pulled it back from the table. “Why don’t you stay a minute and help me with this?” 

Thankfully, the appeal of the chocolate caramel truffle was strong enough to draw her back. After catching her breath for a moment, Mamori sank into the chair slowly and considered the fork at length. Gen took his seat opposite her and picked up the mug of coffee he had forgotten. He sipped it slowly, ignoring the fact it was completely cold. 

“Okay, let me know if I’m getting this wrong. You don’t want Agon to be right, obviously. You don’t want to betray your teammates, even though they let you down,” he said. “I get how that’s a problem for me and you. But what’s this about Hiruma, just now?” 

Mamori sighed, dabbing at her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve. “It’s just… He’s been tormenting the others to get me to come back. I’ve tried to get him to stop, but he won’t listen. If I don’t go back… but I can’t! I don’t know what to do.”

Gen watched her stumbling over her words in her distress. “You know you aren’t responsible for what Hiruma does, right?”

“Of course not, but…” Her breath sighed out of her, all at once. “But I know they’re suffering because of me. Because I can’t get over my stupid pride.” 

"It sounds like you didn't want to leave in the first place," he noted gently.

"Of course I didn't want to leave! In spite of everything… you can't understand," she replied. “I’ve shrugged off so many things over the years. I couldn’t let this go.”

Gen looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. He couldn't say he understood, but the price was something she loved. Pride was not really the word for it. It was like she was claiming some scrap of dignity that the rest of her confidence relied on. And she seemed torn up about it enough without their diabolical quarterback making things worse. 

“I’ll take care of Hiruma," he told her. 

Mamori looked at him in surprise as he offered to do the seemingly impossible without fanfare. "You… you'll take care of him?"

In fact, Mamori was not the first person to bring the issue to Gen's attention. Earlier that week, Jûmonji had stopped by the worksite to pick up his friends at the end of the day. As Kuroki and Toganô packed up, Jûmonji had managed to corner Gen for a private word.

“Hey listen. About this whole thing with Anezaki...”

Gen’s pulse immediately doubled at the idea that Jûmonji of all people knew about him and Mamori. It was alarming to think that someone he rarely saw and who didn't seem close to either Mamori or Suzuna would have figured it out so quickly. Apparently Gen hadn’t been as discreet as he had thought. 

Jûmonji had paused a moment as he tried to find a tactful way to put what he had come to say. “I don’t like to get people mixed up in shit that isn’t their problem, but do you think you could do something?” 

Gen frowned slightly at this uncharacteristic meddling and studied his former teammate. His posture was nonchalant, as always, but his tone sounded like he was balanced on the edge of desperation. 

Jûmonji felt Gen's scrutiny bearing down on him and was compelled to explain. “He listens to you, sometimes, y'know. The whole team would appreciate it. Hell, I’ll buy you a nice new jackhammer or whatever you want, if you manage to get him to stop.”

It was at that point that Gen realized he was being asked to help with the situation at SaikyôDai, and Jûmonji had clarified what had actually happened. Gen had eventually agreed to see what he could do about it. 

Over the next few days, Gen had reflected on the situation and what might possibly resolve it. The simplest solution, of course, was for Mamori to resume her position with the team. Failing that, any effort would have a high probability of failure. Hiruma tended to keep his eyes on his objectives, afterall— if he wanted his manager back, he wouldn't stop until he had her. But late one night, Gen had thought of an approach that he suspected just might have a hope of working. He had something that Hiruma wanted. Something that Gen could withhold from him, if he were to violate certain conditions. It was a strategy as old as time: a sex strike.

He hadn’t had a chance to give Hiruma an ultimatum yet, but the idea was well-formed enough that by the time Mamori raised the issue, he didn’t need very long to think about it. 

Gen shrugged in response to Mamori’s disbelief. "I can’t make any promises that he’ll stop, but I’ll do what I can.”

Mamori breathed a grateful thank you. Gen sipped his coffee and contemplated the rest of the situation. It took a bit of effort to untangle the problem into a plan. But it didn't seem impossible to overcome. 

Actually, the solution was fairly simple. 

“What if we dated in secret?”

Mamori looked up, stunned. She seemed taken aback at the very suggestion of deception or deceit. “What?”

“Agon is wrong, you didn’t join us because I seduced you, even if I was technically trying.” This particular example of self-depreciation was more amusing than it probably should have been, but he held up his serious expression effortlessly. “Those are just the facts of the matter. You wouldn’t be betraying or misleading anyone.”

“I know, but…” Mamori began, but trailed off. 

“People gossip, and we can’t help that. All we can do is starve it of material,” Gen continued. “You’re the manager of the Babels, I’m the owner, we have business together and have been friends for years. If we keep things professional in public, no one should have reason to suspect what we might be doing in private. Not more than they already are, I mean.” 

Mamori contemplated this. "In secret…"

“That might limit our dates to my home-cooked dinners…” Gen added smugly. “But I am actually pretty terrible at dating, so you might be thankful not to have to be seen in public with me.”

“Oh stop! I’m sure you are not terrible at dating!” she nearly laughed out her admonition, though her eyes had still not completely dried. Her laughter was beautiful to hear.

“What do you say? You okay with letting me cook for you a couple more times, and see where that goes?”

Mamori glanced at him with a cautious smile. Her deep blue eyes glimmered again. Suzuna was wrong: she wasn’t as pretty as the sea at sunset. Her eyes alone were like starlight on the ocean, just after the sun was gone.

“Maybe we can see where it goes…” She looked at him a moment, not with the inscrutable stare from earlier. Instead her expression was thoughtful. “I don’t want us to be strangers, either.”

For a second he forgot to breathe. His heart must have kept beating, but his chest felt tight and there was a light fluttering in his stomach. 

But then she went on. “I really appreciate you, Musashi, and everything you do.” 

_...everything you do for Hiruma._ He could hear the unspoken words clearly. It was true, it was fine. It stung.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” she added, her voice too sincere.

“I’m not.” 

“I know you said... but I still shouldn’t ha—”

“—I’m not,” Gen repeated, firm and gruff. She liked him because he cared for Hiruma. She had kissed him out of curiosity, nothing more. It was almost more than his heart could handle, but he still couldn’t wish it hadn’t happened. “You kissed me. I don’t care what the reason was. It was wonderful. If you’ll give me a chance, even in secret… that would be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shampoo smell reference is of course a major shout out to [Romance on the Grid Iron](https://archiveofourown.org/works/429173)! I think at a minimum we can agree Mamori doesn't wear perfume or anything like that. The whole vanilla-and-jasmine thread is actually cribbed from a real life situation where an acquaintance at a bar misidentified my “vanilla” deodorant as “jasmine” (for situational reasons). NONE OF WHICH IS ROMANTIC but I wish it had been and was inspired to make it so!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiruma meddles. Suzuna helps. Musashi is more vulnerable than he expected.

### SUNDAY - Happyful Diner 

Hiruma slammed his finger down on the button between the menu holder and the napkins to summon their waitress. 

“Oy, fuckin’ manager,” he greeted Mamori when she arrived at their table, notepad at the ready. She had made no effort to hurry, as she might have for any other customer. She gave Hiruma the weariest of looks, but smiled warmly at Kurita. To Gen, she only nodded pleasantly. 

It was only the day after their first kiss, but already Gen found himself having to pretend that he wasn't secretly dating Mamori in front of their mutual friends. When she had come to take their orders Gen had escaped to the washroom, letting Hiruma and Kurita order for him rather than risk whatever sentiments might be betrayed in his voice if he did it himself. Now he forced himself to pretend that egg stuffed with tomato-rice was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world, and not steal glances to admire the way the colour of her uniform complimented her complexion or how her high ponytail showed off the back of her neck. 

“Book next Sunday off. You've got plans,” Hiruma told her, grinning. 

From Mamori’s professional attention and composure, there would be no way for an onlooker to know that this table of three who could spend hours hanging out in the booth at the far end of the restaurant (the one by the windows that faced the station exit, the very best of views for surveillance) were her good friends. 

“Of course,” she replied in a soft voice, hoping no one would overhear, but loading her tone with politeness just in case. “I already switched shifts.” 

Hiruma eyed her suspiciously. “The fuckin’ sister already talked to you?”

Mamori’s confused expression suggested this was not the reason. “I’m going to the match between the Sparrow Hawks and the Amulets next Sunday with Kid and Kakei. I didn’t think Suzuna would be interested in an X-league game.”

“What?! With fuckin’ fox eyes and the dried-up cowboy?” Hiruma scowled dramatically. Then, for some reason, he glared at Gen. 

It seemed to require all Mamori’s patience to stay composed in the face of such profanity. “The Babels will play the winning team in the next round, so obviously I can’t miss it.”

“Of course you can miss it! You know how to watch recordings, don’t you?! Or are the fuckin’ pinnochios too amature to have a VHS recorder??” Hiruma’s response was completely over the top, but in a beat he suddenly switched to a more cunning expression. “Eyyyyy, old man… don’t you have one…?” 

This behaviour was a bit weird even by Hiruma’s standards, but Gen refused to react to it. He took a sip of coffee as he calmly and simply affirmed: “Yeah, I do.” 

“So, skip that mind-numbing game with those losers,” Hiruma told Mamori. Then he dramatically produced a wad of tickets from what appeared to be thin air, as if to dazzle his audience. “We’re going to Galaxy World! It's gonna be a Deimon reunion extravaganza! You can’t miss it.” 

At least one of them was dazzled: Kurita beheld the tickets with starry-eyed wonder. “Aahhh! Hiruma! Galaxy World?! Aren’t they sold out for the rest of the year!?!”

Galaxy World was an amusement park in one of the suburbs of Tokyo, popular for the variety and reputation of the rides: the fourth tallest rollercoaster in the world (but the tallest in Japan by a good three metres, for the moment at least), gravity defying thrill rides, family-friendly rides, rides that were perfect for romantic outings, and so on.

Knowing Hiruma as they did, Gen and Mamori glanced at each other with a shared scepticism before they both discreetly averted their eyes. 

“I seem to remember you saying amusement parks were idiot traps…” Gen said to Hiruma. 

“Kehkehkeh! Sometimes idiot traps have their uses,” Hiruma grinned back at him. “If you know how to use them....”

Kurita was dreaming about the amusement park. “I’ve always wanted to try the three-axis tilt-a-whirl! Oh, and try their specialty waffle sundae with their signature sprinkles… ” 

“Is that the one with the real sour cherry and extra-dark chocolate swirl?” Mamori tapped her pencil to her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose I could leave the game a bit early… it’s true I could review the recordings, for the last quarter at least...” 

Hiruma smiled. A devious smile, as if he had trapped an opponent’s bishop or perhaps even their queen. Mamori’s acceptance made Kurita even more enthusiastic about the prospects of the trip, but shortly Mamori was summoned away to attend another table. She bowed precisely as a waitress should, then trotted off. Her ponytail bounced in time with her steps.

The instant she was gone, Hiruma's phone was against his ear. “The fox is in the hen house,” he said cryptically. After a slight pause he snapped back. “Just do something about it! This is your department, isn’t it?” He hung up with a dark scowl. He grabbed a handful of gum syrup containers and creamers and began arranging them in an unsteady tower.

“Hiruma, what are you plotting?” Gen asked. It didn’t take much insight to guess some subterfuge was at play. 

But Hiruma’s reply was surprisingly direct. “Tch! We’ve gotta get her away from fuckin’ fox eyes!”

“Hmm...” Even though it could be a bit of a headache sometimes, Gen kind of liked when Hiruma got worked up over pointless little things like this. “Why’s that?”

“Why?! He’s disturbingly handsome and too charming for his own good! And those eyes… tch!”

“You’re worried Anezaki is going to steal him from you, is that it?” Gen guessed, more to annoy him than anything else. He doubted Hiruma had any interest in Kakei. There had never been any spark or clash of wills between them. “Or are you worried she might fall for him?”

It had been a full day since he had told Hiruma about his date with Mamori, Gen noted, but his friend had not said a word about it. At first he had wondered if he should interpret that silence as a kind of tacit approval. Now the ire of their devious demon was flaring up over the company in which Mamori chose to watch football matches. Gen cautiously concluded that Hiruma wasn’t going to actively try to break them up, at least. That was something. 

“It’s a matter of when,” Hiruma ranted through his teeth to avoid being overheard by the waitress in question. “Pretty boy jets off to America every chance he gets, but comes back to Japan at the drop of a hat _just because_ she asked him? What did she offer him? What's he expecting out of this? Tch! If he’s working on her, she’s gonna fall for his charm sooner or later, and we can’t let that happen!” 

Gen chuckled softly. This idiot could be pretty adorable. 

“You really don’t know what she offered Kakei?” he smiled into his coffee, using the moment to rub in the fact he knew something that the reputed master of information apparently did not. 

Hiruma looked at him with a curious expression, an eyebrow raised high. Gen met his gaze and held it a moment. A little suspense never hurt anyone.

“You know why she joined the Babels, I’m guessing?”

A secretive smile spread across Hiruma’s face, his eyelids half-closed, as pleased as a cat who had been in the cream. “I do.”

Of course he did. That was good, at any rate. Gen turned the cup around in his hands, drawing out the anticipation.

“So?? What about it?!”

A smile crept onto the corners of Gen's mouth. “Anezaki offered Kakei the Rice Bowl trophy.” 

It only took half a second to process that information. Hiruma’s face burst into a wide grin. 

“Hell… that woman…!”

And then he began to laugh so hard tears poured from his eyes.

Customers at nearby tables turned toward the racket with concern. Gen knew, just as well as Kurita did, that this particular laugh was the one that Hiruma used to mask his deep appreciation for someone. Gen glanced at Mamori on the other side of the restaurant, where she was delivering an order to the kitchen. The riotous laughter had drawn her attention and she looked on with a mortified, but slightly bemused expression. When she caught Gen looking at her, she smiled back and shook her head in exasperation, as if silently asking for the thousandth time _whatever will we do with him?_ from across the dining room. 

Gen sipped his coffee and listened to his friend laugh, in that moment feeling perfectly content.

Kurita was still pouring over the details advertised on the Galaxy World ticket as he finished his third order of hamburger meatloaf stuffed with cheese. “Hiruma, this is such a nice surprise! And we get to go with everyone! It’s going to be such a great Deimon reunion!” 

"What inspires this so-called reunion, in the middle of October?” Gen asked, still suspicious. A reunion at Christmas might make sense, or a date commemorating one of the decisive games in the semi-finals, but the second weekend of October seemed completely arbitrary. 

“None of your concern, old man. Just don’t be late.” 

So he was definitely plotting something. Gen shrugged. “Can’t make it, sorry. You guys have fun.” 

Hiruma slammed a palm against the tabletop, toppling his tower of creamers. “None of your shit excuses, old man! You’ve got a competent manager now— _all to yourself_ I might add— plus an overqualified project manager, too. You basically ain’t needed anymore! You’ve got time for some fun, finally.” 

“I know that. I was planning on gardening.” 

“Do it another day.” Hiruma swatted that idea aside. “You’re the one always waking up too damn early, whining about how those needy little weeds gotta be watered before the crack of dawn or whatever.”

“There’s more to plants than watering them,” Gen replied. He wanted to get some soil prep done before it started getting cold, but between work, games and practices he didn’t have many chances to take care of it during daylight hours. “What’s so important about this amusement park, anyway? I thought you hated that kind of thing.”

“Keh,” Hiruma smiled knowingly. “I hated karaoke too, once upon a time. But it’s got its uses, and I’m not too proud to admit I was wrong.”

Gen raised an eyebrow as Hiruma said this, unsure if it was the truth or a bizarre bluff. Or maybe both. 

“Point is: this is a Deimon reunion and you already missed way the hell too many games in highschool to get to use ‘gardening’ as an excuse for skipping!” Hiruma hoisted a dangerous-looking weapon at him to underline his argument. 

Gen looked from the gun to his friend over his coffee, unconcerned. At worst, those rubber bullets might be fired at the ceiling, but he had never done so in the diner before— not while Mamori was working, anyway. Such bravado, but nothing more than usual.

“Won’t it be fun, Musashi?” Kurita looked ready to deflate at the idea the kicker wouldn’t be joining them, which made Gen a bit reluctant to hold his resolve. “There’s even a stamp rally on right now, with the chance to win a cool prize!” 

Hiruma kicked him under the table. 

“That ain’t just some ‘cool prize’ fatty!!” Suddenly his laptop was out and he was shoving it in Kurita's face, open to a product specs page. “It’s a top-of-the-line, advanced-release model of a recently de-classified military surveillance drone! Hands down the lightest frame, furthest range, best lens, and longest battery life of anything on the market! The consumer model won’t be released until the fuckin’ _new year_ so this is our only chance to get our hands on it before the tournament’s over!”

Gen inhaled thoughtfully, then let the breath out. A prize like that might just explain Hiruma’s behaviour. Forcing the entire team to complete the stamp rally made sense if he was trying to stuff the ballots— but why Deimon, when SaikyôDai had exponentially more members? Maybe, if he was going to be stuck herding a bunch of idiots through the kind of commodified carnaval landscape he had always detested so much, Hiruma wanted them to be Deimon idiots. Aside from the campiness of the actual venue, Gen realized it would probably be a ridiculous amount of fun to spend a day with the whole gang, even as forced labour for Hiruma's little project. And it had been a long time since he had taken a whole day off for something purely fun. 

“I’ll try to get the soil work done in the morning, I guess,” Gen said, cracking a bemused smile. Those two could really drag him into anything, apparently.

Hiruma’s eyes locked on his, wickedly satisfied. When Gen saw that look, he knew what he had to do. 

“But I'll only come on one condition...” 

### The NEXT SUNDAY - Galaxy World

The autumn day was as beautiful as summer, but without any hint of summer’s thick humidity. It was sunny and still mostly warm, except in the shade when the breeze was strong— a perfect day for football, and a perfect day to spend running around an amusement park with old friends. 

As he exited the parkade Gen spotted Yukimitsu waving at him. The majority of the old gang were already assembled under the tall, pointed clock tower outside the Galaxy World entrance. Hiruma, armed to his pointy teeth, was collecting signatures on pages and pages of legalese before handing over the tickets, guaranteeing any prizes into his custody. The three unrelated brothers were arguing with Komusubi as Kurita looked on, begging everyone to get along. Sena, Monta and Ishimaru were locked in a battle of rock-paper-scissors, but whether it was to decide a punishment or something good was unclear. None of the people assembled had shining blue eyes or long brown hair framing their face, however. 

"Huh? Musashi's here!" 

"Huuh?? You mean he actually took a day off?!" 

"Huuhhh?!?!"

“Musashi!!” Kurita cried, his arms opening wide for a hug. "I told them you were going to come but they wouldn’t believe me!"

Thankfully, at the same moment the Ha Ha Brothers grabbed him by the shoulders, grinding their fists into his skull and narrowly saving him from Kurita’s crushing embrace. It was one of those rare moments that Gen didn’t feel like he was the employer of two-thirds of them, but instead simply a friend again. It was nice. 

“You’re fuckin’ late, old man!” Hiruma snapped, thrusting a clipboard and a pen in his face. 

“If you want my autograph, you could ask nicely,” Gen said, cleaning his ear with his pinky finger. But soon enough he was scribbling his name beside the others, just as Hiruma had known he would. Gen took his ticket and scanned the plaza around the clock tower for any signs of the woman he was secretly dating. 

“So... what’s she like?” his mother had asked through the phone, a few days after his last dinner with Mamori, only a week earlier. 

Gen had bristled a little at the question. Couldn’t he have a secret of his own, even for a short time? “Who’re we talking about, exactly?”

“Your new sports manager! Kakei told me she recommended him for the job. She sounds wonderful. Not to mention she seems to have excellent taste.” 

His mother had taken a liking to their new accounts manager, although she had still only met him by phone. Gen couldn’t disagree. If a little cheerless, Kakei Shun was competent and exacting, making him easy to trust with the inner workings of the business. He also took care to keep Mrs.Takekura constantly updated, removing some of the burden from her son-and-business-partner. The newcomer couldn’t possibly know that the information he shared was complicating things for his immediate supervisor and teammate, however. 

“Yeah, she’s…” Gen had searched for a word other than _wonderful_ that didn’t make it sound like he had placed her on the altar of love and beauty. “She’s great. Very capable, lots of experience. We’re lucky. I think the guys like her.”

“It sounds like _you_ like her.” 

Gen had nearly rolled his eyes. Until they established something more serious, he didn’t want his mother speculating about the extent of their relationship. He knew enough about mothers to know better than that. 

“Yeah, I like her well enough,” he replied, then deliberately changed the subject. “How’s Sis? And that runt of hers? Still hogging my Ma, it seems...”

 _I kissed this girl, Ma, and I’d pretty much do anything for her,_ he almost said. It still made his insides a little fluttery to remember her fingers tracing along his jaw, her knees around his hips, the sweet, warm taste of her mouth and her closeness filling his lungs. But in the week that had passed since that night, he had actually seen less of her than usual. 

The Babels needed a morning practice. Mamori pretended like that was the consensus of the coach, captain and herself— and if they wanted a shot at winning the X-league tournament, it was undoubtedly true. But it was hard not to think she was intentionally avoiding him. These new morning practices were for the players who didn’t start work until later in the morning, which essentially meant anyone who was not directly employed by Takekura, plus a few guys who had longer commutes. They were able to afford the extra rental time through donations from the players' own pockets, which Gen still thought of as an incredible gesture of team spirit, and touching in its way. 

Mamori was in charge of opening the change rooms and unlocking the equipment at dawn three times a week, while Gen and the others began their shift at the construction site. Mamori still attended the evening practices, but she usually left early on the nights she would open in the morning. Besides that, the two of them were careful not to interact unless there was a compelling reason to do so. Often she would send one of the kids across the field to ask him something she could have asked him herself. They had probably not said more than two words to one another since she left his place the night of their first kiss. 

During that week of watching her at practice from a distance, Gen’s anticipation of the amusement park outing had grown. The fact that she had not yet joined them was a sharp disappointment.

For his part, Hiruma was grating his teeth at the missing parties on the attendance list. Gen could almost read the words ‘ _die latecomers_ ’ in the fiery gleam in his eyes, and he wondered if it might be necessary to rescue his crush from an explosion or two if she took much longer. Hiruma pulled his phone from his pocket and ferociously began typing.

“Ehhhhyyyyyy!” called a voice. “Wait up, wait up, we’re here!!!” 

It was Suzuna, complete with her old rollerblades, dragging a breathless Mamori behind her. Suzuna rushed toward Hiruma to grab their tickets while Mamori greeted everyone cheerfully. Gen was completely dazzled, even though he realized there was nothing special about her appearance that day. She wore a denim jacket over a pale knit dress, brought to her waist by a braided cord. Simple as it was, it all seemed to bring out her eyes. And her smile. He reminded himself not to sigh or stare too much with so many people around to see. 

With their former cheerleader and manager with them, the roster was complete. The only former Devil Bat who didn’t join them was Suzuna’s brother Taki Natsuhiko, still chasing fame in Hollywood. The Christmas Bowl champions enthusiastically filed through the ticket gates, each receiving their official stamp rally cards. 

Suzuna seemed to know exactly which rides they should try first, and Hiruma immediately fell back and let her take the lead. When Kurita spotted an ice cream vendor, half the group immediately ran after him, leaving the less sugar-motivated members behind. 

“What the hell are you wearing?!” Hiruma snapped at Gen when there was some distance between them and the others. 

Gen looked down at his old hoodie, a bit faded but still a dark green. “What? It’s the same thing I always wear.” 

“Tch,” Hiruma sniffed, scouring him up and down with his eyes. After a beat he continued his critique. “You should grow out the mohawk again.”

Gen ran a hand through his cropped hair. He knew Hiruma wasn’t a fan of his boring cut, but Hiruma had to learn that what he wanted wasn’t always what he was going to get. 

“Well, it’s not exactly professional,” Gen told him for the thousandth time.

“Sure. But it’s sexy as fuck.” 

Gen stole a glance at him. It was rare that Hiruma could make him blush, but it was also rare that they talked as if they were more than ‘just friends’ in public, even if no one was around to hear. Hiruma grinned back, pleased to get a reaction from him for once. 

“Dontcha wear those rags all the time anyway?” Hiruma snickered as if to imply ‘ _check and mate’_. But there was something serious in his slim narrow eyes that made Gen helpless to refuse. 

“Fine. I’ll consider growing it out, I guess.” Gen shrugged. “Just for you.” 

Hiruma flashed his fangs at him with his patented wicked smile. “Oh, I’m flattered…” 

The group of former teammates made the tour of the amusement park attractions, filling up their stamp cards more than dutifully. The rides were almost surprisingly good. The thrilling rides seemed custom designed for a dare-devil sports team, with a chain of dares and double-dares compelling the boldest and proudest of them to ride multiple times. The salt-and-pepper shakers, anti-gravity cylinders and the slingshot all left at least half of them weak in the knees. The biggest, baddest rollercoaster always had a line, although somehow the Devil Bats crew managed to magically find themselves whisked to the front of it (no one needed to ask why). Even the teacup ride was wildly satisfying, as long as Kurita was in someone else’s cup (in which case it was pure terror). It was rare that they stepped off a ride without breathless laughter. And occasional vomiting. 

What might have been a carefree day with a bunch of friends was complicated by the effort to not raise any suspicions about the budding relationship between the former manager and kicker. Too often in the trek between rides Gen and Mamori would find themselves walking together as the others ran on ahead, darting off to wonder at some fantastical attraction in the distance or being swept up into random arguments. After a time the two developed coded excuses to put distance between themselves: Gen would tell her she should probably go check on Sena, Mamori would ask if he wanted anything from a snack vendor, and so on. 

A few times when Gen was walking alone, Suzuna would circle back on her inline skates, armed with opinions and directions: “Talk to her!’ or “You’re missing your chance!” or “Did you tell her she’s pretty?” or “You should take advantage of the situation!” 

Gen would remind her that they were trying to keep things under wraps. Then she would pout, argue that the two of them were always watching over the rest of the gang together, “you know, as the Deimon parents!” 

Even though she was technically kind of right, Gen would just frown and she would eventually leave him alone to lead the entourage to the next attraction. 

It wasn’t just Suzuna who seemed invested in Gen’s attention to Mamori. At one point they ran into a couple of the new American Babels recruits, who were visiting the park with a group of other foreign English teachers. They were very friendly and chatty with the Babels members of the group, especially Toganô who had done his best to overcome their language barrier and made himself something of a mentor to them regarding manga recommendations. They even recognised Sena from his exchange semester in American highschool football circuit, and enthusiastically introduced themselves to all the others when they learned of their shared hobby. Through it all Mamori translated as needed, and they showered her with attention and compliments, even inviting her to their various exchange group social outings— only thinking to invite the others as an afterthought. 

Hiruma’s face was contorted in a scowl so powerful his eyebrows twitched with the effort, and a pair of automatic weapons appeared in his hands. “What the hell?! What’re ya doin’, old man?!? Get in there and chase off those dogs sniffing at her skirts!” 

“Those ‘dogs’ are my teammates and the best chance we’ve got for getting to the Rice Bowl, you idiot,” Gen reminded him, cleaning his ear with his pinky. He couldn’t say he was worried about her being interested in other guys, considering how much effort it had taken to get her to look away from Hiruma for even a second. 

But bizarre as it was having Hiruma show concern for his love life, it was kind of nice. Definitely much better than dealing with him trying to shut it down. 

“If you must know, she sees them every day at practice and treats them pretty much the same as she treats Sena,” Gen added. This statement seemed to succeed in appeasing his weaponized friend enough for him to put away his guns. 

Later in the afternoon, Hiruma approached him with a can of hot black coffee in hand. 

"Can't have you tirin' out before we finish, old man!" he cackled, cracking open the can with two fingers and handing it to the kicker. 

Despite the abusive language, the gesture was suspiciously generous— so much so Gen refused to accept at first. But Hiruma kept shoving it in his face so eventually he took it just to get him to stop. 

"To what do I owe this act of benevolence?" Gen asked.

"It ain’t benevolence. I still owe you for that card game," Hiruma reminded him. 

Gen frowned, eyeing him warily. "Thought we settled up already…" 

"Tch! You think I’d just give you something out of the goodness of my heart?” 

There was no arguing with that. Gen shook his head and took a sip as Hiruma smiled his unsettlingly conspiratorial smile. Such was the trouble with having a deep, unshakable trust for a complete nutcase: in the end, there was no choice but to trust him. 

It wasn't only in the walk between attractions that Gen and Mamori often found themselves together. They also constantly ended up next to one another in the lines as well, despite their very concerted effort to ensure there were other people between them. Somehow or another they tended to wind up in the same car or in proximity for rides like the mega swing. The whole day felt like a bizarre conspiracy to bring them together. Maybe the stars were aligned. Or maybe some of their mutual friends were trying to 'help.' At the thought, all Gen could do was shrug internally. If that were the case, he certainly couldn't stop them.

Only two stamps remained on their stamp rally cards as they waited in line for the ferris wheel, one of the modern types with enclosed cars that could operate in all seasons. It was getting late in the day but there was still a decent line. Gen counted at least five people between himself and Mamori: Kurita, Hiruma, Ishimaru, Sena, and Suzuna. As the previous round of riders disembarked, the line began to move more quickly. Before he realized it, Gen was being ushered into the newly emptied cabin. He glanced back to give Mamori a quick look, to let her know he was thinking of her through all this, only to find the other parties between them had dissolved— Ishimaru suddenly mentioned having to visit the washroom; Hiruma was herding Kurita off to the next carriage with a rifle, claiming the fatass and Musashi would never both fit in the same car; Suzuna was dragging Sena back in the line, apparently scandalized by something she had overheard Monta say. 

That left Mamori. 

They looked at each other, stunned, then shrugged and grinned almost in unison. They stepped into the cabin together. 

"Are you having fun?" Mamori asked, sitting across from him as little by little the car rose up into the sky. 

"Yeah," Gen smiled back. "Sorry we keep ending up together, it just keeps happening…" 

She shrugged at his apology. “Well, it’s kind of fun, don’t you think? Like a game show challenge or something.”

“If it were a game show, then we'd probably be disqualified already.” Gen wasn’t sure being on a game show was his notion of a good time, but the idea that adding a layer of complexity made things more enjoyable for her was exactly what he would expect from Anezaki Mamori. "Who'd've thought the first thing we'd do together after deciding to date in secret is publicly hang out in an amusement park with half our mutual friends around to see," he added. 

Mamori giggled a little at that. "I thought you told me I would be embarrassed to be seen in public with you!"

"But this isn't a date, remember." She really had no idea how awkward he could be, and he prayed she never found out. "I guess that means you're enjoying the little reunion?"

Mamori nodded. "It's pretty hard to let them get on those death traps, honestly— I know everything is inspected and it's bad business to have guests killed or injured… but my heart still races every time I see Sena running towards one!"

"Yeah, I feel you on that," Gen said, eyeing the rollercoaster below them, the one with three loops and an upside-down twist segment that had been particularly death-defying. He wondered if he would let his own kids ride it. The height restriction seemed suspiciously low, if the Deimon shorties had been allowed on. "But you didn't actually try to stop anyone, so that's something."

"You shouldn't tease!" Mamori sniffed gravely. 

"I mean it! I'm proud!" 

"Musashi, I was joking!" she exclaimed.

Gen stared a moment, then broke a grin. "Oh!"

They laughed together again. 

“I haven’t had a chance to thank you,” Mamori said after a moment. 

Her voice was so soft and warm he felt like he had fallen into a dream again. “You don’t have to thank me,” Gen said with automatic chivalry. 

She looked at him with a crooked smile. “Do you even know what I’m thanking you for?”

Gen shrugged, letting himself be taken in by her eyes. “No, but I’d do it again.” 

Mamori’s eyelashes fluttered quickly for a moment before she blushed. It was like watching her clumsily process his words then finally realize he was flirting.

“I _meant,_ thank you for whatever you did with Hiruma. I don’t know what you did, but he’s actually left everyone alone all week. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

“Well, sometimes you’ve gotta fight fire with fire,” Gen replied, intentionally vague. He certainly did not want to go into the details. 

“Did you... blackmail him?”

“Not exactly… I’m not sure how long this will work, though.” Using the threat of not attending the Deimon reunion as leverage had worked surprisingly well. But he wasn’t sure if his plan would be effective after the reunion was over. Would a sex strike really work? Or would Hiruma just take it as a challenge… or an invitation? He was starting to wonder if it wouldn’t be better to get to the root of the issue, rather than trying to just manage it with threats. He gazed out the window at the amusement park below them and the skyline that stretched out beyond it. The car had almost reached its pinnacle.

Soon Mamori’s eye was caught by the landscape as well. “Wow… I can even see SaikyôDai...” 

Gen watched her eyes light up as she recognised different landmarks. The sun was just touching the horizon, filling their car with an intoxicating golden glow. Every strand of her hair shone copper in the light, framed by the kaleidoscope of clouds outside. He remembered what Suzuna had said once, about sunsets. Maybe he could. Like this, he could say something like that without feeling like a complete imbecile. Because it would be true. 

“Mamori…” 

She turned as he said her name without flinching. Gen felt a little light-headed. He blinked a few times to try to focus. The air seemed dry and thin, and his nose felt itchy. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, a touch of concern in her voice. She must have noticed he was having trouble looking straight ahead. “Are you afraid of heights?” 

Gen grinned at that. “The amount of time I spend climbing scaffolding, I’d be out of a job if I were afraid of heights.”

He realized he had managed to seriously kill the mood, although he wasn’t especially surprised at that. He gazed out at the sunset again then back at Mamori, trying to find his courage. She was still watching him, still slightly worried. 

“What I meant to say, is...” _Don’t back out. You can do it._ “Mamori, you’re…”

But that instant he felt something drip from his nose. 

_Oh no._

He touched a knuckle to his nostril, praying it would be an only slightly mortifying clear liquid as he searched his back pocket for his handkerchief with his other hand. Instead, the fluid was bright red. 

_Shit._

“Musashi, you’re bleeding!” 

How he was able to lose so much blood so quickly, he would never understand, but trying to stop it with his fingers until he found something more absorbent was a terrible idea. Almost immediately Mamori was upon him, pulling tissues from a packet and pressing them against his nose, but foolishly he still managed to look at his bloodied hand. His head felt even lighter, and the dizziness kept growing even after he blacked out. The last thing he remembered was the floor growing closer and Mamori reaching out to break his fall. 

On the ground below, two onlookers peered through binoculars as one of the cars at the top of the ferris wheel began to sway. 

“Fu fu fu!” Suzuna chuckled salaciously, covering her pleased smile with a hand. “When he finally finds his courage, he doesn’t hold back, hmm?”

“Keh. I doubt it,” Hiruma replied, lowering the lenses. But his smile was also pleased. 

“Oh? You think Mamo-nee made the first move?” she chirped.

“What? ’Course not!” Hiruma scoffed. He unwrapped a stick of gum, his eyes still on the ferris wheel. “By my calculations, with the combination of the dry air, the thin atmosphere at the top of the wheel, and the fact that the old man just conveniently happened to ingest some blood thinners earlier— chances are, at this moment _Mamo-nee_ ’s busy nursing that poor helpless hunk of masculinity…”

Suzuna gasped, her eyes gleaming. “It’s perfect.”

“I know,” Hiruma grinned. 

When Gen opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Mamori’s face, although it was upside down. He heard her saying his name and thanking the heavens that he was awake, her long hair hanging down and tickling the sides of his face. He was aware he was laying on the floor, but his upper body was propped up— on her lap, to keep him from choking to death on his own blood running down this throat, no doubt. At least the bleeding seemed to have stopped. The door to their car opened— had he been out for the entire ride, or had they made an emergency stop just for him?— and the attendants looked shocked as Gen slowly stood, with Mamori clutching his arm anxiously, protesting he shouldn’t move too quickly. He felt weak, but he couldn’t let himself be carried anywhere. 

The next thing he knew, Hiruma was dragging them to the next ride.

“Get that card stamped! The line’s this way!”

“Hiruma, wait! Musashi needs to go to the medical station!” 

“Fuckin’ old man’s not gonna let me down.”

“He passed out!”

“Keh! He’s fine!”

“He needs to rest!” 

“He can relax all he wants on the next ride!”

“Hi- _ru_ \- _MA_!!”

“Just one left! Do or die! Kehkehkeh!” 

And evidently Gen was not under immediate threat of death. 

That was how Gen found himself sitting in a swan boat, floating down the Tunnel of Love, with the woman he was only supposed to be dating in secret. 

The Tunnel of Love was a long, slow-moving river surrounded by what must have been intended to be scenes to set a romantic mood. Mostly these were nature scenes, waterfall lagoons inhabited by marionette fairies or clockwork woodland animals visiting fantastical toadstool circles. The glow of the scenes and the artificial stars on the ceiling were the main sources of light. Gentle harp notes floated in the air. 

“Musashi!” Mamori was still at his elbow. “I’m so sorry, Hiruma is…” 

“Hiruma is Hiruma,” Gen finished weakly. “It’s fine. You did your best. We had no choice in the matter, clearly.”

Mamori let out a sigh in the face of her own futility, then turned her attention back to Gen. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything? I have some water.” 

Gen was still practically writhing with embarrassment. He hated fainting more than anything. He hated falling without warning. He hated not being able to do anything while he was passed out. He hated not knowing what had happened. He hated imposing on whoever ended up being forced to take care of him. Worse, he knew better than to look at his own blood— other people’s blood didn’t have this effect on him— but he had stupidly looked anyway. At least he had been able to walk away on his own. 

“Do you think anyone saw?” he asked her. Mostly he was worried about Kuroki and Toganô, his employees, who had made such a big deal about his last fainting spell. This would be so much worse.

She shook her head. “The others were still on the ride. Except Hiruma, obviously. I don’t think any of the others could see anything.”

Gen breathed out in relief. He let himself relax in the seat of the swan boat, realizing it was actually a good place to recover. Away from the noise and chaos of the park, and from the prying eyes of their idiot friends. Perfectly alone, not even really in public. He breathed in the lightly chlorinated scent of the fake river water, and could just detect the cream-puffs-and-starlight fragrance of his companion. 

“Mamori...”

“Hmm?” She seemed to have let the calm of the ride influence her, too, her head resting against the high padded back of the bench. If before she had been overflowing with concern, now it was only an undercurrent in her voice. “What’s wrong?” 

"You're more beautiful than the sunset."

For a moment he forgot to feel uncomfortable— it felt right, actually. Genuine truth. 

Mamori's laugh practically glittered.

“Do I want to know what’s so funny…?” Gen asked, cautiously sharing her amusement. There was no point feeling embarrassed if he got to hear that laugh. 

“Did Suzuna tell you to say that?” 

_Whatever happened to this woman being oblivious?_ “What makes you think that?” 

“Because,” she laughed again, “it’s almost completely dark!” 

Gen cracked a smile. _Can’t argue with that._ But it was not completely dark. Her eyes caught the soft lights of the musical marionette scene their swan boat was drifting past.

“Also,” she added with warmth as she looked back at him earnestly, “you never seemed like someone who was concerned with appearances very much.” 

Gen breathed in. Deeply, slowly, to keep his heart from stopping. He stretched his fingers out until they interlaced with hers. After a moment he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers in the dark. 

They sat in silence until their swan boat floated out of the tunnel and docked at the exit. By then many stars were visible even against the lights of the city.

### LATER THAT DAY -- SaiMa Line Local Express 

On the train home, Sena and the others who took that line were drifting off to sleep with the rhythm of the wheels against the tracks. Even Hiruma looked like his eyes might droop shut any moment. Yawning, Mamori slipped into the seat beside him. 

“Today was fun, Hiruma. Thank you,” she said, quietly so she wouldn’t wake the others. 

Hiruma didn’t reply, just stared ahead. 

“Did you have fun?” she asked him, against her better judgement. It wasn’t that she was trying to annoy him, especially as he seemed focused so hard on fighting back sleep, but her spirits were still high from the day and she truly hoped that he had shared in it, too, if only a little. 

“Fun wasn’t the point,” he replied. His voice was barely louder than a whisper, but more from exhaustion than any effort to avoid disturbing the others. “Whether it meets its objectives remains to be seen.” 

She rolled her eyes at his pragmatic response. “I hope you win that gadget, then, in the end. If a whole day at the amusement park with your friends wasn’t enough for you.”

“Keh,” he smirked weakly at the back of the seat in front of him. “You never change.”

Mamori smiled and let him sit in peace, feeling her own sleepiness pulling at her eyelids. After a few moments she heard him say: “Did the old man propose, or what?” 

“Propose?” Sleep must have been twisting the sounds. Or it might be his idea of a stupid joke. “Hiruma, what are you talking about?”

Hiruma studied her from the corner of his eye for a moment, then turned back. He clicked his tongue softly. 

“What is it?” Mamori stifled a yawn. He must know Musashi’s interest in her— they were best friends after all— but only Hiruma would come to such an outrageous conclusion. He had never shown interest in other people’s relationships before, though. She supposed there was no reason to expect him to abandon his usual all-or-nothing impulse.

“Nothin’. Go back to sleep.” 

She didn’t need much encouragement. She slipped in and out of half-dreams of roller coasters, of drifting boats and cross-regional trains like the very one she slept on, her cheek resting on someone’s shoulder. 

Mamori woke with a start when Hiruma stood and slipped past her knees, moments before his station was announced. When he reached the aisle he paused, looking at her slumped in the seat with a frown, then cast a glance around the train car, scrutinizing the sleeping passengers with the flash of his eyes. 

Mamori looked up at him with a drowsy smile. “Good night, Hiruma.”

To her surprise, he took hold of her wrist and pulled her up into the narrow space between the rows of passengers. “C’mon.”

“Hiruma…?!” Mamori stared at him in confusion as he led her to the doors.

“Apparently you aren’t coming back to the Wizards,” he said, as if that were some kind of explanation.

“As I told you a thousand ti—”

“So, you gonna quit your job, then?” Hiruma cut her off. The train was slowing as the station platform appeared. “You leave dinner and leave lunch and that’s it. There’s no time left, between your internship and the diner and the fuckin’ pinnochios. And soon...”

He missed her, she realized. Her heart ached. Soon they would graduate. And then… but she wouldn’t let that happen.

Then Hiruma released her wrist, letting her arm swing free. He looked down at her calmly as the doors slid open in front of them. “You comin’ or what?” 

Mamori hesitated, torn. She couldn’t go home with him, even though she knew Hiruma would not so much as kiss her. People would still talk. She couldn’t. She glanced back at their friends, still leaning against one another asleep in their seats. No one would see. No one would know. 

“Hiruma, I can’t. Sena might miss his station, and—” 

Without waiting for her to finish, Hiruma stepped off the train onto the platform. “You’re so busy being proper, you’re gonna mess up everything.”

He was doing his best to look unconcerned but she could see the tension around his eyes as he glanced back over his shoulder. The doors closed before she could open her mouth to argue. 

_Don’t worry,_ her hands flashed through the window as the train began to pull away. _I’m not going to leave you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, one of the most charming and completely under-rated Japanese things is the Stamp Rally! I feel like it is rarely depicted in anime or manga (if you have seen it please let me know where!). If you are not familiar, basically, there is a card or paper with spaces for you to collect ink stamps at different locations, and once you have collected the required number you can submit it to win a prize. Basically they are promotions to encourage you to visit different locations, and are a favourite technique of business districts (collect stamps from various shops) or tourism (visit lesser-known landmarks and local attractions) or sometimes special events (I saw one for a cherry blossom festival that had different kiosks set up with stamps, and one where life-size cutouts of Yowamushi Pedal characters were set up in various locations around the city to promote the movie that had just come out). I have collected stamps in many stamp rallies, but I have never submitted my stamps to enter for the prize because I just think the stamps are so cool (yeah I'm a complete nerd, I collect train station stamps too). I often dream of importing this custom to North America. 
> 
> Also, I really had no idea how hard it would be to invent a made-up amusement park!! The ones I made up as ‘parodies’ of real places kept ending up being actual places too!! (??) Originally I was going to do a knock-off Disneyland or USJ using a Hans Christian Andersen theme since Disney has relied so heavily on his stories. That was partly inspired by a former HCAndersen theme park near my town, of which only the musical marionette clock had survived-- but it turned out there is a still-existent HCAnderson theme park in Chiba (!!). So I pivoted to more of a FujiQ Highlands style amusement park, which I imaginatively named "Cosmo World" -- but then it turned out there is ALSO an amusement park named Cosmo World in Kanagawa!! X_X!! ((I just wanted to have a ridiculous orchestrated dating scenario why is this so hard!?!?! I'm tired.))
> 
> My local "family restaurant" was called "Joyfull" , the inspiration for Happyful. I hope this isn't plagiarism too lol.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musashi makes a delivery. Mamori is charming. Hiruma plots shamelessly.

### SUNDAY -- Hiruma’s Place

_—Door’s open_

Hiruma's last text message was not misleading. Gen pushed the apartment door open without needing to turn the knob, which was useful considering his hands were full. 

“Got your daikon,” he announced as he dropped the huge bushel of freshly harvested vegetables on the counter closest to the door. “What the hell are you planning to do with so many of these, anyway?” 

But the cackled explanation he was expecting did not follow. Gen turned, looking for his bleach-blonde idiot friend, but he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, in a comfy chair on the other side of the room, a stunned Mamori was curled up in a blanket, staring at him. The book that she had been reading in the late afternoon light was still open in her hands. She seemed just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

Gen stood blinking. She looked different, somehow. More dreamlike than usual, even though he had spent a lot of time dreaming about her. Conscious he was staring like an idiot, he forced himself to say something. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” she replied with a soft smile, as if she were just waking up. The way she was reclined in the cushion of the chair, she might easily drift off to sleep without even having to shift her weight. 

_Waking up together would be nice... from an afternoon nap on a lazy Sunday…_ but Gen tried to focus on making sense of the somewhat odd situation. “Uh, so where’s Hiruma?” 

“Who knows...” Mamori sighed. Then, seeing the confusion on his face she almost sighed again. “Oh no, did he ask you to come?”

Gen gave a weak shrug. “Just asked me to drop off this stuff. I guess I assumed he’d be here.” 

“That man,” Mamori shook her head. “He’s acting so strange lately.” 

“Yeah,” Gen agreed. Hiruma was a pretty strange guy, and it wasn’t always easy to decode his ridiculous schemes. But they had seen Hiruma’s approach to the Rice Bowl a few times now, and this was different kind of strange. A few weeks earlier, Hiruma had raged at the slightest inconvenience, which Gen had thought was due to the loss of his most trusted manager. But recently Hiruma had become almost serene, although Mamori had not returned to the Wizards. Despite his outward calm, however, he was clearly plotting something. Well, that part wasn’t strange, at least.

“Uhm… I thought you were busy tonight,” Gen said to Mamori, as tactfully as he could. 

Finding times to secretly date when they were both free had proven difficult. Weeknights were basically impossible due to practices, and weekends were complicated by the fact that Mamori insisted on attending both the Enma and SaikyôDai games in addition to whatever X-league matches were most relevant. While she would sometimes settle for recordings of the latter, she wanted to cheer on the college teams as much as study them (if not moreso). Gen dared only join her once, at an Enma game against Shueei that Hiruma, Kakei and many others also attended. 

In the two weeks since the Deimon amusement park reunion, Gen and Mamori had only managed to meet for dinner on one occasion. At least when she had left his place there had been a goodbye kiss that had helped him hold out hope that there would be a next time. Whenever that might be.

“Hiruma said I was forbidden from making plans today,” Mamori explained in her defense. “But who knows when he’ll show up. He acts like I’ve been ignoring him! But really, our schedules just don’t line up these days.”

Gen wasn’t entirely surprised that Hiruma would be making a fuss about not seeing her. Unpredictable as he could be, he preferred to have regularly scheduled occasions when he could see his friends. Hence the regular Sunday evenings at the diner with Kurita. Losing Mamori at the Wizards practices had disrupted that, no doubt. But booking her for the afternoon then not showing up seemed a bit counter-productive. Gen frowned. 

"Did you order these daikon, by any chance?"

But Mamori shook her head. "Did Hiruma ask for them?"

"Yeah, seemed to want as many as I could pull up. Who knows what he's got planned."

"Well, I'm sure we'll find out sooner or later…" she sighed, leaning back deeper into the chair.

Gen considered the pile of vegetables he had deposited on the counter, their long leaves still attached, as requested. Hiruma showing interest in garden produce was particularly strange. What on earth was he plotting…?

When Gen looked back at Mamori, she was gazing at him from her seat. The sun was streaming in, setting the highlights of her hair on fire, but what struck him most was how relaxed and content she looked in her cozy blanket, the pages of her book still caught between her fingers. Not managing anything. Not watching over anyone. Just enjoying a quiet break, as comfortable as if she were in her own home. 

After a moment of gazing at one another, Mamori beckoned him over with her hand, smiling dreamily. Gen complied. 

“Is it weird I’m jealous of a book?” he asked, the joke in his voice buried deep as he approached.

Mamori laughed at him. “I’m not even looking at it!” 

“No,” he replied, leaning closer to her. “but you’re touching it…”

“Ah well…” With her page still marked with one hand, she touched her fingers to his cheek with the other, gently pulling him in for a honey-sweet kiss that fogged up his senses. After so much anticipation, their third kiss was everything he had dreamed. Except it was much too short. 

“I’m even more jealous of this blanket,” Gen added with a crooked grin, still bent over her. Encouraged by the fact she had invited him for the kiss, he pushed the blanket back a little and wrapped his arm around her waist. There wasn’t really enough room for both of them to sit on that pillowy armchair properly, so he ended up half laying across the arm beside her, his suede jacket with its lambskin lining adding bulk of its own. 

When his fingers reached the soft warmth of her stomach, he felt Mamori's body stiffen. He froze, half expecting her to pull away in a panic, but she didn’t try to break from his arms.

“Do you like my tummy?” she asked, more than a little self-consciously. 

Gen adjusted the angle of his hand to assert his strong interest in her stomach, almost offended that she would ask such a question. Since the day they had first kissed and she had so suddenly regretted it, he had been reluctant to touch her at all for fear of making a mistake. But had his caution made her think he was anything less than obsessed with every inch of her? Or did she doubt that her body was absolutely perfect, just because she wasn’t as skinny as when she was a teenager? 

“I like your tummy.” He pressed his other hand into service of convincing her otherwise, enveloping her abdomen under his palms. Her eyes locked on his, their deep sparkling blue both lost and found at once, so close.

“And your hips,” he added, in case she had doubts, slowly moving his hands down over the soft flesh until they came to the widest part of her. 

“And your thighs.” He traced their full contour with his hands, remembering the feeling of them around his waist when she had been balanced on the ledge of the sink. He buried his face in her neck so she couldn’t see the flush in his face. 

“And…” 

If she hadn’t been sitting, his hands would have worked their way to the ample curves that were hiding underneath her. He was about to give up his frustrated effort when Mamori turned to him, cupping his jaw with her hand and covering his mouth with hers. Her weight shifted just enough that his grasp reached past her upper thigh, pulling her against him. They kissed, drawing every moment out until they were short of breath. They only broke from their embrace when Gen felt her book half-crushed under his elbow and they paused to extract it, laughing.

Gen pushed back her hair from her eyes, one arm still around her. “Your bangs are too long," he told her. "You should let me cut them.” 

“Oh? You cut hair too?” Mamori asked skeptically, an amused eyebrow raised. 

“What can I say, I’m a handy guy…” Gen smirked. He'd started shaving the sides of his own hair again, letting the top grow out, although it was nowhere near as long as it had been for the Christmas Bowl. “I’m no stylist, but a trim is easy enough. Hiruma always makes me touch up his roots, too.” 

“You don’t!” she gasped.

“You don’t believe me, fine, fine,” he groaned, pretending to be hurt, and she tightened her arm around his chest under his jacket, laughing: “I believe you, I believe you!” 

His phone chimed with a new message. Maybe it was Hiruma explaining himself. Trying not to change position too much, he fished his old Nokia from his pocket. But the notification indicated it was an MMS from his sister. Gen grinned. 

"Hey, check this out," he said, holding the phone at an angle that she could see, his chin resting on her shoulder. 

An image of a baby with dark eyes and a tuft of dark hair filled the screen, about the size of two postage stamps. The frames advanced and the little face crinkled up, then, after a moment of suspense, sneezed. The baby was left sitting there with huge, stunned eyes, mystified at what had just happened. Gen chuckled and Mamori cooed with laughter. Gen replayed it a few more times, trying to figure out if there was audio or if his phone was just stuck on silent. 

"I want to go out there and meet him," he told her. "Things have been so busy, it's been impossible to get away. But now with you and Kakei, things have been more manageable. I think I could sneak in a weekend visit."

Mamori smiled as he pulled up some of the older photos he had saved in his phone, despite the poor quality and lack of storage. "I'm sure you could take a couple days for yourself," she agreed.

Gen pushed back her bangs again. "You should come with me. You could meet my nephew and my mom and my sister. And we could go out in public together without anyone finding out."

"That would be nice," she murmured, touching her lips to his. Then a gurgle rose from under the blankets that made both of them look down in surprise. Mamori let out an embarrassed laugh. "Okay well, I guess I should get started on dinner!" 

Somewhat reluctantly she pushed herself out of the chair, and somewhat reluctantly Gen let her slip from his arms. 

"Maybe some hotpot with daikon?" he suggested as he stood.

"Well, I was planning to make chirashizushi.”

“Fancy.”

“Ah, not really. Just a bit of prep. Anyway I wouldn't want to interfere with... whatever Hiruma has planned," Mamori frowned and gestured vaguely at the pile of gigantic white radishes. 

“Maybe he’ll be lured by the smell of food,” Gen mused. 

“We can hope,” Mamori sighed again. She had crossed the room to where her bag hung near the door. “First step, music.” 

She pulled an mp3 player out of her purse and carefully untangled the earbuds.

“Hiruma doesn’t have a stereo, huh?” Gen said, looking around. He shook his head. “We really dropped the ball when we raised this boy.” 

The words were out almost before he realized what he was saying. Who needed a meddling friend to interfere when he was clearly perfectly capable of sabotaging his relationship on his own?

Incredibly, Mamori arched an eyebrow at his joke, but she went along with it nonetheless. “Yes well, _our son_ has some special high-fidelity headphones that no one is allowed to touch,” she informed him. She took a cup from the cupboard and placed the earbuds inside, then set the volume as high as it would go. “Anyway, this works in a pinch.” 

A peppy electronic beat echoed out, amplified by the glass at about the worst quality imaginable but the tune was still detectable. The music brought a little spring to her step that was almost a dance as she gathered her hair up in a knot on top of her head. As she did, she shuffled toward him, smiling and bouncing in time as if to encourage him to join in. 

“Oh, is this a dance party now?” he chuckled, unmoved by the beat but charmed by her smile and by the fact she didn’t seem self conscious in the slightest. 

“Why not?” she replied. Reaching out to him, she moved a little closer. As the highly-processed vocals began, she sang along, “ _Last night I had a dream about you... In this dream, I’m dancing right beside you…”_

She slipped her hands inside the wool collar of his jacket, leaning against him hip to hip and looking up expectantly. 

“And karaoke too, I see…” Gen let his hands rest around her waist. He couldn’t hide his face in her neck to hide his flushed cheeks this time. Or, well maybe… The nape of her neck was normally hidden by her hair, but if he leaned enough he could just reach it. As he kissed her exposed neck he felt a shiver run through her body and he pulled her close against him. Not wanting to let go, but not wanting to scare her with his strength either, he quickly loosened his grip. His face was still hot, but now Mamori was blushing too, and she seemed as interested in distracting him from this fact as much as he had. 

“I’ve never seen you sing at karaoke,” she remarked, if somewhat distractedly. “Not even in groups.” 

“Yeah, I don’t sing.”

“Dance, then…?”

Gen tilted his head slightly. “C’mon now…” 

“You don’t have to be good at it,” Mamori insisted. “I’m not very good.”

“Isn’t it enough that I can cut hair and do woodwork and garden?” Gen grumbled, with his half-suppressed smile. “Not to mention all that time I spend on a sport that some people around here are kind of obsessed with? Now I’ve gotta sing and dance, too?”

Mamori laughed. “Not well… but yes, you really should. You must.”

“I must, is it?” Gen contemplated her words. Things had definitely been going too smoothly. He should have known at some point she was going to test him with something completely impossible. 

“No one has to see. But you need a song in your heart,” Mamori told him. Then the music came to a bridge from the chorus and she sang along again. _“Oh, I don’t know what to do... about this dream and you… I hope this dream comes true...”_

Imperfect though it was, her voice was much prettier than the robotic vocals on the track, but the instrumental part soon began again and the singing ended. Mamori contemplated him, still wearing his jacket. “You should stay for dinner. Hiruma would like that.”

“And what about you?”

“And I would like it, too.” 

“I'd love to,” Gen replied immediately, but reality suddenly struck him and he had to take back his words. “Ah, wait, no…. I only meant to drop this stuff off. I've still got some errands to do. And my laundry's outside. Sorry."

"That's fine,” she assured him. “Come back after you're done. Unless you have other plans for dinner…?" 

She batted her eyelashes. Was she... flirting with him? Kissing was one thing. Dancing was another. But Mamori, flirting?! "Just leftovers, as usual."

"So come back and eat with us. You can do the dishes. Heaven knows Hiruma won’t do them."

Gen looked at her with a smug, teasing grin. "You know what I charge for doing dishes."

“I do,” she smiled as he leaned in to kiss her again. 

~~

The underground parking garage was made of marshmallow clouds and sunshine. Gen didn’t notice he was humming until he broke off in mid-tune when he caught sight of the Takekura truck. Someone was sitting on the back bumper with a laptop balanced on his knees. 

“What the hell’re you doin’ here already?” Hiruma snapped, finishing up whatever he was typing on the computer before closing it and standing to confront his friend. 

Gen quickened his pace toward him. It took him about two seconds for him to figure out what was going on. He pushed Hiruma back against the truck and kissed him. Hiruma only pretended to resist. 

“You are completely nuts,” Gen told him with stern affection. “But thank you.” 

“Kehkehkeh! A rare public display, huh? And here I thought you were supposed to be withholding your favours from me...” 

“That's only if you're doing something you're not supposed to be,” Gen reminded him, frowning. “Have you started harassing your teammates again?” 

Hiruma waved a hand dismissively. “The definition of stupidity's doing the same thing and expecting different results, ain’t it? But it’s nice to know you ain’t completely spent, old man. I was worried having two lovers would run you into the ground. Although… you weren’t up there very long...”

Gen sighed. Hiruma had all kinds of ideas, clearly. “I’ve got some things to take care of.” 

“Tch. All that set up and you’re just gonna waste it?!” 

“I’ll be back later,” Gen assured him. “But you should get up there. Anezaki’s waiting for you.”

“You go. Just say you forgot something. Don’t come back until you’ve sealed the deal.”

“Hiruma,” Gen sighed, completely exasperated. Where to start? “We’re not... We’re taking it slow.” 

“And I’m saying, hurry it up,” Hiruma snapped. “And get your mind out of the fuckin’ gutter! You don't have permission to take advantage of her.”

Gen thought he might go cross-eyed trying to make sense of that. “What’re you saying?”

“Stop wasting time. Someone else could show up and sweep her off her feet any minute. Secure the arrangement.” He punched a finger into Gen's chest to emphasize, as if it were a gun. 

“You need to calm down," Gen told him. He backed off a step, releasing Hiruma from his position against the truck. “Whether you like it or not, these things take time.”

“Fine. How much time do you need? A week? Two weeks?”

“It doesn’t work like that. We barely know each other.” 

“You've known each other for years! What’re you waitin' for?” Hiruma shot back. When Gen only glared at him disapprovingly, he added: “Tell me you have a plan at least!” 

There wasn’t sufficient air in his lungs to sigh long enough. Gen inhaled and exhaled slowly twice before moving toward the truck cab. “You go help with dinner. I’ll be back later.”

“Tch. This is the thanks I get...” Hiruma grumbled, crossing the parking garage in the direction of the stairwell. 

"Hiruma,” Gen called after him. “Stay out of this. Please.”

Hiruma cackled at that. “Kehkehkeh! Not a chance, old man! This is my personal business, too."

He continued laughing as he trotted away. Gen watched him disappear, then climbed in the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. As the engine coughed to life, he pressed his forehead against the steering wheel and tried to tell himself he was lucky that Hiruma wasn’t trying to sabotage his relationship. At least not intentionally. 

Hiruma’s apartment smelled like cooking rice, simmering vegetables, fresh omelette frying and the odd, mild stink of dozens and dozens of daikon waiting on the counter. Upbeat dance music was faintly audible under the sizzling from the stovetop. 

“So, you finally decide to show your face,” Mamori scolded him, looking up from the pan where she poked a thin layer of egg with long chopsticks. But her reprimand was only paper-thin, barely covering the cheerfulness that bubbled beneath it.

“Nice to see you too,” he grinned, dropping his jacket and his bag on the floor near the power outlet. He crouched and plugged in his various devices to charge. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting?” Mamori went on. “Musashi was here looking for you, too. What on earth do you need so many daikon for?” 

Daikon had just been a premise to get the old man and the fuckin’ manager alone together, of course. But every good premise needed a cover story. “For making pickles.” 

Mamori looked at him like he had lost his mind. “You’re going to pickle daikon?”

“Keh, I’m gonna _supervise_ the pickling of daikon, kehkehkeh!” 

“Honestly, Hiruma…” Mamori clearly understood who he expected to do the pickling, but her omelette was ready to be rolled and sliced into sliver-thin strips, and she left off on lecturing him further to focus on her work. Hiruma snuck in beside her, reaching past the chopped vegetables to steal a marinating shrimp from a small bowl nearby and popping it in his dagger-filled mouth. Mamori shot an equally sharp glare at him, but the reprimand he expected didn’t come. 

“Did… did you see Musashi on your way up?” she said instead. She seemed focused on sniffing the air around him in confusion. 

Hiruma grinned wide. He was almost proud that she could pick up the old man’s scent on him after such a brief encounter. It was a worthy match. If the fuckin’ manager would just cooperate, everything would be perfect. The fuckin’ old man would get his happy little family, the fuckin’ manager would have all the babies she could ever want and he wouldn’t have to give up either of them. He could keep them both. 

This was the type of plotting he preferred to avoid altogether, exhausting and frustrating even when the plan was self-evident. But he certainly couldn’t leave his two most intelligent friends to come to the best and most obvious conclusion on their own. Hiruma wanted it done, however. It had already been weeks!

“Old man’s always in a rush,” Hiruma shrugged in guise of a response, grabbing another shrimp and earning himself a fresh new frown from Mamori. 

“If you're hungry, why not snack on one of your radishes, honestly! If you keep this up, there won't be any shrimp for dinner,” she told him sharply before shifting to a more conversational tone, one that almost glowed with pleasure. “I invited Musashi to join us, by the way.”

Hiruma leaned against the counter beside her, half watching her work, and half dreaming. It would work. It was perfect and brilliant. He just needed to plant the right seeds. 

“Hmm... that’s good.” 

It was surprisingly easy to put a tender note in his voice. It seemed to surprise Mamori as well. She paused to look at him with wondering eyes. 

“Hiruma?”

“I’m worried about him,” Hiruma pretended to confess. The word felt almost foreign in his mouth. He wondered if he should sigh, but she knew him well enough that she might read through something so crude. Or she might overreact. He decided for a slow breath before continuing, just to be safe. “That strong exterior… not many people realize…” 

Well, let her fill in the blanks. 

“Don’t worry,” Mamori said gently, as if she were trying to comfort him. “You’re not the only one watching out for him. He has a team of his own now, you know.”

“Tch, a team? How does that help?” Hiruma scoffed. “He can’t let himself rely on anyone. He puts too much on himself.”

"Like someone else I know," she teased softly. "Who is managing just fine somehow."

"Tch. But at least I don't— oh, forget it." The old man wouldn't approve of this next part, but Hiruma wasn't breaking off out of consideration for his feelings. Hesitating helped the power of the performance.

"What? Hiruma, what is it?" 

"It's just... you know, _his_ old man, the dead one—” 

“—Hi _ru_ ma!!—”

“—His condition… it's hereditary. He doesn’t like talking about it, but…” he let the pause draw out before stating simply, with a touch of resignation, “No one knows how long he's got..." 

It wasn't a lie, exactly. It was strictly factual. The same was true for everyone, after all, genetic predisposition to illness or not.

Mamori fell quiet for a moment, her dinner preparations forgotten. Hiruma had to remind himself not to let his pleasure show on his face. He turned away, scolding himself, "Tch, I shouldn’t’ve said anything.”

This was true, too. The old man would strangle him if he found out. He might even refuse to speak to him again. But such was the risk and such were the stakes, and he couldn't say he felt very bad about it. Since everyone was going to live happily the fuck ever after. 

"You gotta promise not to tell him I told you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tech timeline. I’m estimating the date of these events to ~2007 (the manga launched in 2002, when Mamori and Gen were in 2nd year high school. I’ve been saying Mamori’s in her 4th year of SaikyôDai, despite not being entirely sure how long a teaching degree would actually take in Japan). There’s a reason everyone’s got their flip-phones in this series, and it’s because smartphones were not a thing in 2002. Even in 2007, the iPhone had only just been released and smartphones in general were still not widespread and were definitely too expensive for Musashi. Things that dumb-phones were not good at: photos, video, music. Hence the low-res baby photos (I’m not even sure the video is realistic, tbh) and Mamori’s mp3 player dance party (not sure the cup technique even works with earbuds but SHRUG!). It’s so hard to remember tech-life during this time! 
> 
> Mamori sings Daft Punk’s Digital Love (2001). I was actually inspired by the section of the [Pentatonix medley](https://youtu.be/3MteSlpxCpo?t=95) that made the vocals sound so pretty, although it is too new to be what she was listening to in 2007.
> 
> I'm at the end of the completed chapters, so I will be going into hiatus for a time. I do have 2 more in draft stage, and probably it will take at least one more to finish this up. Expect more Mamori POV and more dating-sim scenarios. And, of course, a happy ending :) Thanks for reading this far xoxox


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